Rush
by tuesday blue
Summary: During the most shakily brilliant and unsteady time in her life, three things vied for her affections: New York, art, and love.
1. sketch

_"A great city is nothing more than a portrait of itself, and yet when all is said and done, its arsenals of scenes and images are part of a deeply moving plan. As a book in which to read this plan, New York is unsurpassed. For the whole world has poured its heart into the city by the Palisades, and made it far better than it ever had any right to be."_

_-Mark Helprin in "A Winter's Tale"_

Chapter I. sketch.

_Manhattan, New York. October. Present Day_****

The reflection in the window of Charley's Streetside Café stared wild-eyed back at the girl who stood before it. Removing her headphones, she ran a hand through her windblown disheveled hair and tucked a lock of it behind her ear. She shook her head, the long fringe falling cut across her forehead falling into her eyes once more and sticking to the droplets of sweat on her skin. Raising a hand to push open the door, she noticed a smear of paint streaked across her knuckles. _Prussian Blue._ She laughed softly and traced the outline of her reflection with her index finger, pausing to graze over the scowl formed by her downturned mouth. "You're a mess," she told herself and sighing, pushed open the door.

_Ting. _

A violet haired girl with a nose stud at the counter raised her eyebrows questioningly. "Well, you look flushed," she said.

The newcomer touched her hot cheeks self consciously. "I got out of class late and missed the train," she explained.

"Again?" the girl at the counter said.

"Yes. It's quite a trek from NYU to here, you know. I am a glutton for punishment, I guess….going to school there and working all the way down here." She slipped under the counter and tossed her backpack against the wall before biting her bottom lip and hesitantly adding, "And I almost died a tragic death while crossing the street again."

"Audrey, really…" violet-haired returned exasperatedly, rolling her eyes.

"God, April, it's not as though I asked for it…I didn't say to the car, 'please hit me now.' Hand me my apron."

April did as requested and took a black apron off of its nearby wall hook and handed it to her friend. "How long have you been here? Four months? You should know how to cross streets by now. It's a simple concept. You stand on the corner, push the button on the post and wait. If the sign says, 'Walk,' then you go. If it says 'Don't Walk,' then don't cross the street! I don't know why you find that so hard to understand."

"Well, when I went to Uni in London, you would just walk out and keep walking. The drivers there know to stop when they see someone bloody walking in front of them. And back home in Brighton, we didn't have that problem either." She tied her apron around her waist, plucked a pencil from its pocket and slipped it behind her ear. "There weren't vengeful cars at every turn just waiting to run you over at any given moment." Audrey sighed, "I suppose I'm just used to that. My brain keeps reverting back to what's familiar. I guess this transition period is going on longer than I expected." Shrugging, she changed the subject and asked, "Busy in here today?"

April scoffed. "No. Completely dead. I could probably count the number of customers on two hands."

"Good, I've got work to do," Audrey said, and fumbled through her backpack until she produced a black covered, hard bound sketchbook and a drawing pencil. _4B_. Freshly sharpened. She opened it on the counter, looked over the work before her. Sighing, she absentmindedly chewed on the end of her pencil and stared out of the window. Her attention span was short and she a notorious daydreamer. She watched the passersby and waited. For what she didn't know…but she had made a habit out of waiting. Her life was passed by in expectation and anticipation of something great to happen. She never knew when it would come or if it would, but she would be ready for it. After gazing out of the window for nearly twenty minutes solid, she sighed deeply, stole a quick glance at the clock, and then reluctantly set about diving into the work before her.

_"this (let's remember) day died again and_

_again; whose golden, crimson dooms conceive_

_an oceaning abyss of orange dream_

_larger than the sky times earth: a flame beyond_

_soul immemorially forevering am-_

_and as collapsing that gray mind by way_

_doom disappeared, out of perhaps (who knows?")_

A painting. A painting based on poetry…another assignment from Professor Malveto that only furthered Audrey's resentment of him. She sat at an empty table near the kitchen for over an hour while she attempted to read over the twenty two E.E. Cummings poems that she had printed out and pasted into her sketchbook the previous night. Haphazardly, she lazily made drawings comprised of line and smudge, but void of soul or promise. She was lost again...hopelessly uninspired and angry at herself for it. She had come to loathe these dry spells more as they came to plague her more frequently. Biting her lip, Audrey erased half of the scrawling on the page before her and continued to make her way through the rest of the seventeenth of the twenty two poems.

_"eternity floated, a blossoming_

_(while anyone might slowly count to soon)_

_rose – did you see her? darling, did you (kiss_

_me) quickly count to never? you were wrong._

_-then all the way from perfect-"_

_Ting._

Audrey's gaze swung to the door. In walked a tall man clad in a black jacket and jeans. Her eyes followed him as he walked over to a table – tracing over his messily tousled sandy brown hair that his long fingered hand pushed out of his eyes….his down turned mouth….his wide shoulders. His head turned toward her slightly as he passed and she quickly looked back down to her papers to avoid his gaze. She skimmed over the last line of the poem once more.

"_-then all the way from perfect nowhere came"_

Biting her lip again, she hesitantly looked up from the table and allowed her eyes once more to fall upon his welcoming features. He sat in a booth towards the back of the café, easily lounging in his seat and perusing the menu. Audrey forced her self to continue reading the poem, her mind still tripping over the first line.

_"-then all the way from perfect nowhere came_

_(as easily as we forget something)_

_livingest the imaginable moon"_

He was sitting in April's section and Audrey looked around the room for her. When she located her near the counter, April caught her gaze and tilted her head towards the man at the table. "Get that for me," she mouthed, and Audrey nodded in response. Strangely and suddenly acutely aware of herself and her movements, she slowly rose from her sleep, careful not to make a wrong step, and walked towards the table. His menu was closed, and he had begun to tap it against the table absentmindedly.

"Can I get you something to drink?" she asked upon approaching the table.

As if brought back to reality from a daydream, he turned his head toward her suddenly and smiled. It was a warm smile that made his eyes sparkles as they crinkled around the edges. A grin tugged on the corner of her lips…something about his smile infected her and rendered her unable to not return the gesture. "How about an iced tea?" was his answer.

She nodded slightly and then turned to walk away. Her skin prickled. Those eyes. They were so warm. Soulful even. _No Nellwyn_, she told herself firmly. _God, stop swooning over a silly boy with pretty eyes._

She returned to the table with the drink in her hands. As she placed it before him, he softly touched his index finger to her knuckles. "You paint?" he asked her.

She laughed slightly, startled from the touch of his hand to hers. "Um, yes. Yes, I do."

He chuckled softly in response and ran a hand through his hair once more. "I suppose you think that's a weird thing to just ask someone…if they paint. I should explain. My best friend paints…so, yeah, I notice that sort of thing." She opened her mouth to return something, but when she did, the man's eyes left her face and looked over her shoulder expectantly. Audrey turned to see where his gaze fell and watched another man slide into the booth. "Professor Denton," the man addressed the newcomer. "How are ya?"

"Just fine," the professor answered. "Have you been waiting long?"

"No, no," the man responded, and then both men turned their attention to Audrey.

Remembering her place and that she was, in fact, working, she was jolted back to reality. "Oh, I'm sorry…what can I get you to drink?" She took the professor's drink order and then went to retrieve it. While she was filling the glass, April came up behind her. "Tasty," she remarked, nodding her head in the direction of the man at Audrey's table. Audrey nonchalantly shrugged in response. "Well, I think so, anyway, " April continued. "Tonight? You still up for it?"

"Yeah, yeah," Audrey answered, but she was distracted. She'd made a vow to herself upon arriving in the city. New York was her chance to start over: her chance to be rid of the mess she'd left in Sussex. She intended on not becoming involved with any men until she'd been in New York for at least five months. Having arrived in June, she wasn't due until at least November. Although it was not technically so, in Audrey's mind, admitting just how "tasty" she thought the handsome stranger to be was allowing herself to become involved. It was a small involvement, a centimeter of involvement, but it was a centimeter farther than she wanted to go.

"Took you long enough." Audrey's roommate Raven stood with her head cocked to the side and one hand on her hip and glared as she approached. NYU's Student Housing Department had paired the naïve, eager Audrey fresh off the plane from Sussex with the street smart, worldly, "New York born and bred" Raven in a too-small dorm room. Audrey's first impression of Raven was one of holy terror and reverence. Raven took one skeptical look at the flush-cheeked girl with a messy bun held in place with a 4B sketch pencil and her mismatched outfit of stripes and plaid and immediately thought her hopeless. However, once she opened her witty, sarcastic mouth, Ray knew she was in love with the little "import." They had been inseparable ever since that moment.

_"I suppose you're Mia Tortulo?"_

_"I'm Raven. Nobody calls me Mia except my father, and he's lucky I let him get away with it."_

_"Well, I'm Audrey, and I go by no other name. I know it's a formal, stuffy thing to do. But I am English….and I couldn't think of anything more clever to call myself, so you'll have to forgive me." _

Even on her worse days, Raven Tortulo always looked complete. Finished. Standing next to her, Audrey couldn't help feeling inferior. She even had to raise her head to look the girl in the eye. In contrast to Raven's perfected togetherness, Audrey Nellwyn's look was always seemingly haphazard. She was always coming undone in one way or another. Hair in her eyes and in need of a good trim. A hole in her pants. Left shoe held together by safety pins. Paint on her hands. Black eyeliner smudged into the crease of her eye. A run in her tights. Audrey always gave off the impression that she were coming apart and being held together only by patches, quick stitching, and safety pins.

"I'm sorry," Audrey apologized looking at her bare wrist. "Well, it seems I've forgotten my watch, but God. I'm sure it's only by just a few minutes. Nothing to get upset over."

"It's not that you're a few minutes late, dear," Lute said with a crooked half smile, tipping her fedora up slightly. "It's that you're always late. Consistently." _Lute McDonaghey._ Lute was, in fact, her given name. "My parents were hippies," she'd always maintained and shrugged whenever asked. Quick to voice her opinion and never missing a chance to take a teasing stab at someone if the situation permitted. Yes. Lute was a living, breathing reality check.

"Can we just go?" Audrey asked, frustrated.

"Knock me more of your cheerfulness, why don't you doll?" Lute rolled her eyes and bent over to pick up and inspect the hem of Audrey's striped skirt. "Some drape you got there," she said. "What's the line on this one….or did you make it yourself?"

"God, Lute, enough of your swing talk. Sometimes I wish you'd just speak English!" April growled.

"What are you always so grouchy for, kid? Huh? What's the matter with you?" Lute asked in her own defense. "You've been in a bad mood all day."

"I haven't been in a bad mood all day," April countered.

"Well, since you got here, at least," Ray interjected.

"No, no, no," April said. "That is so not true. Is it really such a horrible thing if I get a little annoyed that Lute always insists on using that jabbering nonsense that none of us can understand? Couldn't she just put her native language to use and speak English?"

"Actually," another quietly interjected, "Lute would have to speak American. Audrey's the only one of us who really speaks English." Audrey was at first not quite sure where the voice had come from. Nicole Burleigh had been standing on the edge of the group, acting as a silent spectator, yet taking in every detail of every movement and every word of the others. She wasn't one to mince words or waste them. She spoke when necessary and when she thought her statements would count for something. Lute mouthed a thank you her way, and Audrey caught her eye to smile gratefully. It was true. Nicole and her tireless mind for detail had come through again, silencing April with blatant accuracy.

"I don't know about that," Ray spoke up, inspecting her nails with intense interest. "Sometimes, when she gets going really fast, I'm not sure what language she's speaking."

"Ha, ha, Ray."

"Oh you know I love you," Ray said, taking Audrey's hand in her own, "Even if I can't understand what you're sayin'."

"You should pick on yourself madam," Audrey retorted. "Queens…..Gawd….Mutthah.. Hehspray…"

"Alright," Ray said, sporting her _'I'd kill a man for doing what you're doing but you're lucky that I love you'_ grin, "I'm gonna pretend that you're not sayin' that. Cause that's one horrible imitation of me, if I do say so." A cold wind rose suddenly. All of the girls except for one shivered and pulled their coats around them and adjusted their scarves. Audrey smiled as the breeze blew threw her, and opened her arms to greet it. She twirled around as she walked, closing her eyes. The voices of her friends faded away as her mind remembered England and frost on the window of her little house in Brighton. _The imaginary rains swirled around her and turned into sleet under her step. Her mother was calling to her to come out of the dampness before she caught her death, but she only laughed in response._

"What's wrong with you?" April asked jarring Audrey from her reverie.

"You're one odd duck," Ray said and rolled her eyes.

"Oh, shut up. It's wonderfully delicious, isn't it?" Audrey said softly, "Makes you feel alive. I am in mad passionate love with cold weather!"

"I'll say it again, Audrey," Ray repeated, "You're one fucking odd duck."

"And you're so crude."

"Agh! Are we just going to stand here flapping our lips all night? Cause I am fuckin' freezin' my ass off, thank you very much," Raven yelled, gripping her coat around her and holding onto it as though her very life depended on it.

"Oh Ray, you're so dramatic," Lute remarked with a sigh as she took a few steps. "You even look dramatic."

Jack Kelly stood with his hands in his pockets, staring at the flashing sign outside of Arc, and watching others descend the stairs that led the entrance. Having arrived a bit early, he had been waiting for his friends for nearly twenty minutes. He looked at his watch for the third time.

_Nine fifty nine._

David would be there any minute. David Jacobs was hopelessly predictable: compulsively punctual – never early, never late. He always arrived at precisely the decided time. Jack smiled as he looked up to see David walking around the corner. He didn't bother to glance at his watch again, for he was certain that it would read ten o'clock. "Hey Dave," Jack called out when he was within earshot.

David nodded his hello. "So that's it? That's Arc, huh?" he said when he came in close proximity.

"Yeah," Jack replied, giving the building another once over. "Looks interesting, doesn't it?"

"Oh, sure it does. If you like that sort of thing. It's……..it's underground." David laughed nervously as his eyes scanned the structure's neon lit facade. "In more ways than one," he continued, clearing his throat. David Jacobs had never really partaken of any of the city's active nightlife. His family was Jewish. Strictly so and conservative to boot. The idea of mixing with a room packed full of drunken, gyrating strangers made him a bit uncomfortable, to say the least. It had taken a fair amount of persuading from Jack to convince David to even consider accompanying him that night.

Arc had a reputation for attracting those who were part of the underground scene: the liberals, the free thinkers, and the anti-mainstreamers - they were known to flock there in droves. David had had little to no interacting with these sorts of persons in his young life, and he was admittedly scared at the thought of going inside of the establishment and finding himself surrounded by them. He had dreaded going, but he'd told Jack that he would, and he was never one to break plans at the last minute. "So, what are we waiting for?" he asked Jack in an effort to convince his friend and himself that he was not as ill at ease as he seemed.

"What we are waiting for," Jack announce with a roll of his eyes and a flick of his cigarette, "is for the notoriously late Spot to grace us with his presence."

"Spot. Oh." David flinched at the mention of his name. Spot Conlon. David and Spot had managed to exist in each other's company well enough, but Spot intimidated him like no one he'd ever met before.

Jack continued, "I told him to be here at nine thirty instead of ten….." As David was habitually punctual, Spot was habitually not. "……..which means he should be here somewhere round ten oh five. He runs on a thirty-five minute delay, usually."

"Jo coming?" David asked, eager to change the subject. Josephine August was the love of Spot Conlon's life. She was held in high reverence among Jack and David's circle of friends. Despite the fact that any one of them would have readily slept with her should she ever extend the invitation, they respected her for taming the high strung, intense monster that Spot had been. He was fiercely devoted to her in ways that astounded everyone who had known Spot prior to Jo's coming. David felt comfortable around her – with her easy smile and quick wit, she was a nice alternative to Spot's intensity, and he enjoyed watching someone as small as her put the mighty and imposing Spot into his place. It brought Spot down a level and made him feel more human to David.

"Oh, you didn't hear, did you?" Jack asked offhandedly, lighting up another cigarette.

"Hear what?" David responded.

"Jo and Spot broke up. Spot's been sulking in his room for a week now. Drinking himself to death and painting like a madman…you know how Spot is. If he shows up tonight, I'll be fucking amazed."

"Well, you go ahead and be fucking amazed."

Jack whirled around to see a lanky, gray capped fellow standing before him. A hand was jammed into each side pocket of his paint streaked jeans and his head was cocked to the side as he scowled upward at Jack. "Heya Spot," Jack greeted him.

"Heya yourself Kelly," Spot responded and nodded toward David who smiled back rather tight-lippedly. He licked his lips. "Look Jack, this is the first time I've dragged my ass out of the house in weeks. And I didn't much feel like doing it. So, this place better be worth my effort. And give me one of those while you're at it."

Jack handed his friend a cigarette and fumbled in his pockets for a lighter. "Where'd you pick up that hat, Spot?" His hand finally falling upon it, he pulled it out, struck it, and offered Spot its fame.

Spot sucked in as the end of the stick in his mouth ignited. He blew a few puffs before straightening the hat on his head and remarking, "It's new. You like it? I, uh, think it kinda emphasizes my image as the poor workin' artist."

Both Jack and David blinked and silently stared at Spot blankly for a moment. "Poor, my ass," Jack finally said, scoffing and emitting a small snorting laugh through his nose. "Now can we go inside before I freeze my ass off?"

Jack, Spot, and David walked through the doors and into a warm red haze of smoke and light. The room was throbbing, pulsating with sound, energy, and life. Spot tapped Jack on the shoulder to get his attention and then leaned over to shout into his ear. "Who's this chick you wanted to come here to see, again?"

"Her name's Ana," Jack yelled back over the loud music, "She's my lab partner in Chem. You know…Chemistry? School…..that thing that the rest of us have to go to 'cause we aren't painting prodigies?"

"Or have rich fathers with serious guilt problems," David chimed in.

Spot scowled.

"Well, she invited me to see her dee-jay," Jack added as he scanned the crowd in an attempt to find her. He stood on his tiptoes, craning his neck to look over the sea of heads. Finally he spotted her a girl in a booth to the far right holding headphones to one ear and a record in her hand, wearing a black tank that said "Trouble." "There she is!" he shouted over the music and pointed in her direction.

As if on cue, Ana looked up and spotted Jack. She flashed him a huge smile, put the record down and waved to him. Tucking the left side of her dark red -hued bob behind her ear, she leaned over and spoke into the microphone. "Hello, to all of you out there! This is Mischief, spinning the platters for you tonight…..this next track is one hot little number, but not nearly as sizzling as the hot number standing next to you, Jack."

Jack looked to his left to see a familiar arrogant smirk uncontrollably returning to Spot's mouth. He sighed, shook his head and smiled. Jack was certain Spot would catapult back into his habitual charmingly smug self once the first pretty girl paid attention to him. In the duration of their fourteen year friendship, Jack liked to think he'd learned at least that about his friend. Nonchalantly, he reached over and hit Spot on the back of the head, nearly knocking off the new cap Spot had been so proud of. "Would ya knock it off already Conlon?" he chided him, "Your over-inflated ego is gonna bust any minute now and spew nasty little Spot bits all over the room!"

"Hey! Hey!" Spot yelled. With meticulous attention, he carefully readjusted the hat to sit correctly on his head. "Hands off the hot number!" He pulled the cap low over his eyes and scowled at Jack, who stared incredulously at the pompous display and laughed. Unable to help himself, David soon chimed in.

_"David! DAVID JACOBS!!"_

David's laughing ceased and a confused expression came over his face as he whirled around at the sound of his name. His eyes scanned the crowd and searched the sea of anonymous faces for someone recognizable that could be calling out his name. _Who could he possibly know here? Or rather, who knew him?_ His brow furrowed and finally his eyes lit upon a female figure with long violet hair jumping up and down and enthusiastically waving her hands. A "who the…?" softly fell from his lips. "Is that…. April?" he asked himself and began to push past bodies to make his way over to the other side of the room where she stood. Intrigued, his two friends followed, easily moving via the path David's wake had created.

"Well, of all the places in all the world, I never thought I'd see you here, David Jacobs," was April's greeting once the three had made their way over.

David nervously scratched the back of his neck. Of all the places in all the world, he never thought he'd find himself there either. "Yeah, it's quite a stretch from Speech class, ey?" he finally was able to muster.

April looked around David at the two others standing behind him. "Who're your friends?" she asked.

"My friends?" David responded in confused hesitation and turned around. "Oh, my friends! Yeah. Um, April, this is Jack Kelly and, um, that's Spot Conlon." Jack smiled hello and Spot nodded his head toward April who was wasting no time acquainting David with the group around her.

While half-listening to April's introductions, Jack took a swig of his beer and caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head slightly to see what had caught his attention, his eyes focused on a single girl dancing in a crowd of nameless faces and bodies. Jack wasn't sure if it were a product of his near-drunken state or if fate were sending him a sign which it wanted him to pay attention to, but his ears suddenly went deaf to the pulsating music and the roar of voices became a faint hum. He could still hear April droning on, but she sounded as though she were miles away. Everything in the room faded and blurred slightly: only the girl in red could be seen clearly. Watching her with unwavering attention, he became hypnotized by her rhythmic swaying of her body. She could have been doing a horrid splice of the polka and pop-locking, but he would have still been able to derive fluidity and grace from her jerking movements. The strobe lights gave her a strange, unearthly appearance, illuminating her solely in the darkness with a blue hued beam that glinted off of her dark hair and caused her skin to glow with an unnatural light. Jack felt his mouth curve into a slight smile as he watched her throw her head back with laughter. Watched her long hair fly around her as she twisted and turned. She looked so familiar_. So very familiar._ Where had he seen her before?

_Time obscured and abstracted itself as seconds elongated into light years. _

The world melted and swirled around Jack as he titled his head back and let his eyes fall to half-lid. She smiled a lopsided grin and pushed her bangs out of her eyes. Jack felt the blood rush to his head and he began to feel a bit dizzy. He glanced at the bottle of beer in his hand, scowled, and put it on the table nearby. As she turned to look behind her, he saw a crescent moon drawn at the corner of her left eye. It looked to him like some ancient symbol of mysticism, which further intensified the strange feeling he drew from her. It was as though she were something entirely foreign to him, something his eyes were never meant to discover. Something otherworldly and forbidden. In his altered state of being, she became Diana, virgin goddess of the moonlight. Jack felt as though he were Actaeon, intruding by gazing upon her, and sealing his doomed fate. Jack watched her with bated breath and waited to be transformed into the stag. When he tore his eyes away from her for a brief moment, he fumbled in his pocket for a pen and then reached across the table for a napkin. On it, he began to jot down in a scrawling slanted script a poem he knew he'd one day consider either grandly insightful or foolishly embarrassing:

"Hang the moon beneath your left eye.

Open your arms as far as they will go…take off your dress.

This was written when I was alone in love with you.

Before I knew your name.

Love is always best at first, unaltered. New lovers are tender and willing…but vastly alter the world you've worked so hard to maintain with a careless dash of their hand. But I never knew magic as crazy as this."

"What are you writing?"

Jack looked up from his frantic scribbling to see the very object of his hasty poetics standing across the table from him. Hurriedly, he crumpled the napkin in his palm and shoved it deep into his pants pocket. "Oh, nothing. Just a little reminder to myself."

"Oh," she said and gazed away into the crowd of dancers.

"Um…" At that moment, Jack would have done anything, said anything to regain her gaze. He stumbled through thoughts and broken words and phrases in his search for something that would have recaptured her attention. "Do I know you?" he finally asked.

Her head snapped back to face Jack, and his expectations were met by deep pools of black that seemed to stare through him. Her expression softened, and for an instant, he was convinced that he saw a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Yes," she answered simply, taking a sip of her drink. "I paint. Remember?" She then put down her glass and whispered into the ear of dramatically drawn girl standing next to her. The second girl laughed and linked arms with his Diana as both returned to the dance floor.

_Click. _Flashbulbs of realization went off in Jack's mind. She was his waitress from earlier that day. But how different she looked. How the light reflected off her let-loose hair and painted her face with sharply fierce softness. She was completely transformed in the smoke and strobe haze of the club. But Jack's fantastical daydream was interrupted by feminine giggling. "Ah, married life," an Asian girl Jack thought April had called Nicole remarked, raising her glass toward the two that had absented themselves from the rest. His brow furrowed in confusion. He had no idea what she had meant by such a statement, yet something in him was terribly afraid to ask.

"Ugh."

Audrey curled her lip in disgust. She had been sitting in her chair staring at a blank canvas on the easel before her and sulking for nearly an hour. Monday. A finished, complete painting positively dripping with skill, meaning, and soul was due in class on Monday. Saturday was passing by rapidly, and still, she had nothing. Cocking her head to the side and squinting her eyes, she waited for either the God of creativity or the canvas to speak to her, and tell her what it wanted to be. Audrey groaned. Her head ached from last night's indulgence. Cradling it in both hands, she tried to ward off the pounding. Trying to decipher the painting's unspoken language was getting her nowhere, except maybe closer to an aneurysm.

In her hand, she held a slip of paper. On it, was Jack Kelly's number penned in black ink, hurriedly scrawled. His name above the slanting numbers in capital letters. _A period after the first thee numbers in place of a hyphen._ She quite liked him on paper, she thought and laughed softly to herself. She turned the paper in her hand and wondered what in the world she was to do with it. Fingering it between her index and thumb, she allowed her mind to wander to the previous night for a few seconds.

_The words spoken between Jack and Audrey the previous night had been few. When Jack pressed the paper with his number written upon it into her palm, Audrey had only sighed and said, "You don't really mean to do this, do you?'_

_"Do what?" had been Jack's answer._

_She sighed once more. "Oh come on, you and I both know exactly what I'm talking about. Raven's the beautiful one. I caught you staring at her earlier. And why wouldn't you? Just look at her. Not a hair out of place. As for me, well….I'm just a mess."_

_To this, Jack smiled and nodded. "You're right," he said and licking his lips, cast a glance toward Raven. Audrey bit at her thumbnail's cuticle and tried to convince herself that she hadn't believed for a second that he could actually be interested in her. No. There was no reason for him to be. Ray. Men always went for Ray. Audrey knew this fact like she knew the spelling of her name. She stared down at the floor and her shoes and began to consider for a moment that maybe if she wore six inch stilettos instead of patterned sneakers she would be more enticing. _

_"Yeah, Raven...." Jack interrupted her musings and Audrey looked up at him. "Well, she's a five act play." He paused for a moment and smiled, his warm hazel eyes crinkling at the edges just as they had done earlier that day in the first few moments of their acquaintance. "But you're meandering poetry."_

_"And you can tell all this by speaking to me for five minutes?" Audrey questioned, making a desperate attempt to hold back a tiny smile, but failing miserably._

_"Yes," was his answer, "It's written all over you. I'm not blind. Or illiterate."_

_"Well, honestly you're wasting your time. What do you take me for?" she responded, "Some kind of easy mark?"_

Audrey had long ago decided that she would never be a "calling" sort of girl. She preferred to not initiate or force anything. She would do nothing to lure him. If he found her somehow and talked to her once more…well, that was fate and there was nothing she could do about it. But for now, she determined not to call him. Tapping her paintbrush against her chair, another sigh escaped its holding place at the bottom of her heart and passed though her lips with an exhalation. She read over the poem once more….her mind still getting stuck on that one line:

"_-then all the way from perfect nowhere came"_

"Okay. Well, that's perfectly lovely. A smashing line indeed. Now, how does one paint nowhere coming forth from perfection?"

Raven pulled back the curtain and stuck her head inside of Audrey's space. "Still sitting there doing nothing, I see," she remarked stepping inside. "I left you here three hours ago, and you were still doing the same thing then."

"Yes, unfortunately. The painting will not let itself be painted." She tilted her head, shrugged, and waved her left hand defeatedly toward the canvas. "Blame my counter-productivity on it."

"Ah, that's too bad," Ray said, flopping down on Audrey's bed and sighing. "But you'll get over it. You always do." She gave the other girl a once over. "You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Ray knew Audrey far better than she should have with in their mere four months of acquaintance. _"I don't know if it's the fact that I'm completely sloshed…or if it's that boy standing next to April's friend, but my head is reeling. And I'm having a bit of trouble breathing. Take me away before I lose my composure and do something I'll regret," Audrey had whispered into Ray's ear the previous night._ "I can tell that you're thinking about him by the faraway look on your face that's mixed with just a touch of perplexity."

"I should just burn this and be through with it all," Audrey mused, holding the crinkled piece of paper up for Ray to see.

Raven twisted a lock of hair around her finger, groaned and slipped into her 'I know what's best voice' as she said, "Look Audrey, you can't go around burning perfectly good numbers and expect to get anywhere in the world. I wish you'd stop doing that. You should just call the damn boy. You never know. He may do something great….he may play the piano."

Audrey twisted her mouth into a contemplative scowl and shook her head. "Boys like that never play piano. They aren't as real as they look or I've made them to be in my mind….and they've got scores of issues that they'll try to pile upon you if they linger long enough. And suddenly before you know it, you're not painting or doing any productive. You're spending every free moment at his apartment being his sex slave and fixing him sandwiches and tea because he's too busy doing…whatever it is…that…he…does."

"God, you're babbling again," Ray said with a laugh. "Here's what I think…one – stop babbling. Two – call him and find out for certain _what_ he is. Three – ask him if his friend is single for me."

"That's Spot Conlon, you know."

Ray, "Yeah, I know. I met the boy last night, if you weren't too drunk to remember. I know it's Spot Conlon. Believe me, I know!" Raven reached into the top drawer of Audrey's desk and plucked a cigarette from it. She held it between her lips and was attempting to light it when Audrey finally took notice of what she was doing.

_"No!" _

In one clean, swift, and utterly graceful movement, Audrey leaned over and snatched the cigarette from a startled Raven. "What are you doing?" she asked waving her hands about the room. "Flammable! All of this is very flammable!"

"Oh, sorry," Ray responded in careless monotone. "I forgot."

"Yes, I know. You're always forgetting. If you want to smoke, do it in your own room. But stay away from my paintings. I worked too bloody hard on all of them for you to dash them into nothingness simply because you need your nicotine fix." Audrey sighed. "As I was saying, no, you don't know. The object of your lust? That's _the_ fucking Spot Conlon. The painter. In all the art mags that I read. _Him_."

"Ohhhh! That one you're always going on and on about? The one that "didn't earn anything, didn't work for anything that he got?" The one that "charmed the entire art world into thinking he was grand" and "seduced the gallery owners so that worldwide recognition and sold out shows fall into his lap?" That one?"

"Yes. That very bastard," she said through clenched teeth. "Loathsome, contemptible bastard."

"Hmmm….interesting. But no. Still don't care." Ray grinned. "Bastard or no, he's fucking gorgeous and I want him." She stood and stretched. Through a yawn, she said, "And Audrey, get painting. You've gotta sell another one cause we need rent money."

"Pawning my art off for money," Audrey muttered under her breath. "God, I hate this."

"Well, it's the price you pay for living la vie boheme…and don't make me sing Rent to you because you know I will. Besides, what do you want me to do? Get a job waiting tables? Cause I can't do that."

"Oh, shut up you. Would it kill you to wait tables? Would it?" Audrey lamented. Ray depended on her acting for money. When she was working, the money came in a steady flow and at times was more than enough. But Raven was a horrible spender and did not know her limits. She'd misplaced them somewhere and had not bothered to discover where they rested. Therefore, when she had no part, times were hard and she depended on loans and her room mate's generosity with the promise that she'd pay her back later. And though she always did, Audrey did not enjoy the way she had to hold her breath in hopes that they'd make it by that month. She did not enjoy the suspense.

To this, Raven only shrugged as she excused herself. Audrey watched her leave and thought for a second about throwing a paintbrush violently in her direction, but dismissed the thought. She felt somewhat lightheaded and optimistic thinking about the night before and Jack and entertaining the notion of calling him. Now, as she looked around at the unfinished ends of things hanging around her, she felt unbearably heavy. Burdened and trapped. Amazingly overwhelmed. Surrounding her were stacks of half finished paintings. Mixed into her own, self indulgent, serious pieces were the commissioned works: Landscapes and bowls of fruit. Flowers. Audrey took on these jobs because she was near brilliant at translating reality into paint. She churned them out almost effortless and quickly. Yes, she was consistently disgusted with them. Disgusted that she must waste her time such cliché and conventional generic subject matter. Disgusted that she was able to do such things so well, but could not seem to do a bit of good in her own work. She closed her eyes and sighed, her heart slightly sinking into her stomach. With three quick motions of her hands, Jack Kelly's number lay torn in shreds on the floor. Taking a brush in her hand, she stood up from her chair and marched over to the easel. "No distractions," Audrey told herself sternly, yet somewhat forlornly.

"No distractions."


	2. it's just you

Chapter II. it's just you.

_Greenwich Village._

_New York at twilight_. As the streetlights were just beginning to bloom to fullness and the city was still half lit by the blue haze of daylight and the orange glow of neon, Audrey stood on the corner of Bleecker and West 10th street and waited for the signal to flash _WALK_. After a full day of class and work, exhaustion had forced her to give up and take the train instead of stubbornly plodding through the endless streets like she usually would have. Audrey hated the train. She hated the stench of it and the claustrophobia she felt when during the beyond crowded rush hour. But more than anything, she loathed the helpless feeling that lodged itself in the pit of her stomach as she tried to avoid the stares from eerie male strangers. On the train, there was no where to run or hide: there was no escape while once was trapped underground, hurtling through tunnels in a run down cage of old metal. After reaching her destination and climbing up the stairs to reach the surface, she made a sharp right turn and headed into the bathroom of a conveniently located Starbucks to wash her hands.

The minutes in which she stood at the corner awaiting for the go-ahead from the light felt like an eternity. She shifted her weight from her left foot to her right and watched the headlights of the passing cars swim by her in yellow and red streaked blurs. Looking down at her plaid Converse clad feet, she scolded herself for knowing not to wear new shoes, but wearing them in spite of herself. "Pretty, yet painful. So stupid. Nellwyn, will you ever learn?" she thought and cursed the blisters that had formed on her toes and heels. She shifted the bag on her left shoulder that was so heavily laden with library books that it caused her posture to slant to the left and tried to will the light to change. When it did, she crossed the street and took a sharp left, walked a block and then into an old brick building and up three flights of stairs. Twisting her key in the lock of 3F, she pushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes and then turned the knob and flung the door open. Upon entering, Audrey was greeted by thin, gray near-darkness and the stench of old cigarette smoke.

With a deep sigh, she flung her bag down to the floor, kicked off her shoes, and felt as though the day had beaten her with a club. She shed her gray woolen coat like an unwanted skin and let it fall into a crumpled heap at her feet.

"Ray?"

Her call was met by no answer and Audrey scowled. But why should she be surprised? Raven was rarely home, and Audrey had become accustomed to it. She had grown appreciate the empty apartment and the silent painting time that it provided. Feeling as though the life had been sucked out her, she massaged her aching left shoulder. Everything in her cried out that she should just surrender, crawl into bed, and sleep her pain and troubles away. However, it was her custom to spend at least three hours devoted to her paintings every night, and she was determined to adhere to it. Therefore, she collected herself and then padded into the kitchen. Once there, she put the kettle on the stove and rubbed her eyes burning with fatigue while she waited for it to whistle. Shoulders slumped, she leaned against the counter and contented herself in the sparse, few moments in which she could get away with doing nothing. She had just gotten settled into motionlessness, when she was jarred by the whistle of the kettle. Groaning, she switched back into "function" mode and made herself a cup of peppermint tea.

Audrey clutched the hot mug in both of her hands, feeling its warmth spread through her chilly fingertips. She summoned the small bit of willpower that remained in her and approached the easel. Her head hurt slightly just looking at it, but stubbornness prevailed and she forced herself to pick up a brush and take a stab at the painting in front of her. She pulled the chain on the light fixture hanging above her easel and was disgruntled when it made a slight pop and went out with a flicker. "Just bloody perfect," she muttered under her breath. She plopped onto the floor and crossed her legs Indian style. Her ran her fingers through her tangled hair and then buried her face in her hands and closed her eyes.

She remained in the same bent over position for nearly two hours until she heard the door open and slam. Raising her head slightly, she squinted and though the haze made out a figure. "You need to buy light bulbs," she told it as it sashayed by.

The figure stopped and turned toward her. "No," it said, "Correction. You do. Besides how do you know we don't have any?"

"Because, Ray darling, we didn't have any when the one in the kitchen went out, so I doubt that any have magically appeared since then," Audrey explained calmly, trying not to sound as annoyed as she truly was.

"Oh," Raven said twisting her mouth into a scowl. She paused for a moment and then shook her head, rolled her eyes and said, "This place is such a dump."

"I know. And now it's a dark dump," Audrey pointed out.

'Well, I can't buy light bulbs, because I bought these." Raven excitedly searched though a shopping bag in her left hand and pulled out a hot pink shoe box. From it, she produced a crimson high heeled pump with a delicately pointed toe and a sling back and held it up gleefully for Audrey to see.

"No. Not again. Tell me you did not," was her response.

"I did. I had to. They're fucking gorgeous."

"But don't you have a pair exactly like that?"

"Well, yes, but they're black. Besiiiiides…" Ray whined, "These are Jimmy Chu's."

"Knock off because you can't afford Jimmy Chu."

Raven sighed and looked at the other girl with exasperation swimming in her dark eyes. "Oh shut up. You're just jealous." In a flourish of heel clicks against the old wooden floor, Ray began to make her way into her bedroom.

"Ray…" Audrey called out to her from the floor, "By any chance, can I take that shoe, screw its heel into the fixture, and have it emit light?"

Raven stuck her head out of the door and scoffed. "Of course not."

"Then what the hell do I want with that shoe?"

"I don't know," Raven returned.

"I'm so tired."

"That's because you stayed up watching 'This is Spinal Tap' last night."

"No, you see, I wasn't fortunate enough to go shopping for hours like you did," Audrey corrected her, "I'm tired because I spent all day at school and at work."

"And because you stayed up watching Spinal Tap."

Audrey felt her composure quickly slipping from her. Yet she bit her tongue and dammed back the anti-niceties she so desperately wanted to hurl at her so-called "friend." "Ray, please…" she begged, "Take them back…buy some light bulbs instead."

"No," Ray stated firmly, refusing to relent. She pointed a thin, perfectly French manicured finger at Audrey. "You do it. I love my shoes. I'm not taking them back."

Audrey blinked a few times, and stared at her room mate for two utterly speechless minutes. She made a small, high pitched coughing noise as if clearing her throat and then said in the calmest voice she could muster, "Ray, I can't buy light bulbs because I'm miserably broke." She paused, hoping to see sympathy or an expression of newly formed responsibility or practicality on the other girl's face. Finding nothing, her voice slowly started to elevate. "But, you see, I need them, because if I don't have them, I can't see well enough to paint. And if I can't paint, then I can't make money. And if I don't have any money, I can't buy light bulbs…and god! This whole thing is so bloody circular! There's nothing I can do about it!" She looked at Raven, her expression pained and desperate, but still found no sign of change on Ray's face. In disbelief, Audrey laughed softly and threw up her hands in frustration.

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Raven finally said. "I haven't had a job in three months." She shot Audrey one brief, victimized look of "how dare you" and then closed herself into her room with a slam of the door. Seconds later, the door reopened. Audrey took her head from her hands once more, and looked up to see Raven strutting across the room with a lighter in her hands to light the path. "See?" Ray said, "I don't need a light bulb."

Audrey watched in astonishment as Raven went into the kitchen, returned munching happily on a sandwich, and then locked herself in her room once again. She took two deep breaths, and then threw back her head and let loose a sound that had been trying to pry its way from the back of her throat all day.

"AAAAAAAAAH!"

…………………

"You're going to catch yourself on fire."

Spot momentarily tore his attention from the half-completed canvas in front of him and looked over his left shoulder at Jack who was sprawled across his floor. He raised his left eye brow and shrugged. "So?" was his reply, muffled by the lit cigarette dangling from his lips. His posture was hunched over, one bare foot resting on the rung of his stool he sat on. With a paintbrush in his right hand and a half-empty bottle in his left, he dabbed at the canvas and took a swig of beer every three minutes. It was nearing midnight and every light in the airy loft was blazing. It was no matter to Spot that the price for electricity had increased three times in the past six months. _"I need lots of light to paint," he'd said with a shrug. "If I can't see, I can't paint. Whaddaya want me to do?"_

Jack took a gulp from his own bottle and traced a swerving line into the dust that had gathered on the hardwood floor. "So, uh, Spot…Do you want to do something?" he asked.

Without breaking gaze with his painting, Spot distractedly responded, "I am doing something. I'm painting."

Jack looked at the canvas and squinted his eyes as if analyzing it. "Jo again?" he asked after a moment's consideration, to which Spot nodded slightly. Jack placed the bottle down on the floor. "Oh, come on Spot, let's do something else."

"I'm painting. I want to paint. If you've got a problem with it, then go home."

Jack rolled his eyes and looked around the room at the countless portraits of the same face. The colour of each canvas differed, but the same soft, demure eyes stared out from picture plane. "God, why do you always have to paint her Conlon? Are you ever going to get over her, and stop moping and painting her continuously? It's not going to make things any better."

"Fuck off."

"Really Spot, I hate to tell you this buddy, but you've got to get over her."

"Alright," Spot said with a shrug, "How 'bout we talk about Sarah now?"

The smile fell from Jack's face. "Shut up."

"Yeah, I thought so," Spot mused as he flicked the ashes from the end of his cigarette. He stared into space for a moment with a faraway look in his eyes. Finally he said, "Okay Kelly, let's make an effort to get these goddamn women out of our heads."

"And how do you propose to do that?"

"A little exorcism. Alright Jack, top five things you miss about Sarah. Order doesn't matter. And no big things like "I miss her kiss" or "her face" or anything like that." Jack ran his hands through his hair. He watched Spot's paintbrush hypnotically stroke the canvas up and down: Spot was completely absorbed, almost transfixed by the richness of the blue gray before him. He had spoken coolly…detached, almost. He did not flinch or show any sign that he was affected by the topic of conversation he had brought up. In fact, had Jack not known better, he would have never been able to interpret from Spot's attitude or speech that the matter was as near and dear to his heart as it so terribly was.

Finally, Jack resigned. What could it hurt? Trying to never think about her seemed to do any good. Maybe finally admitting what he missed about her, or just that he missed her from time to time would finally set him on the path to recovery. He bit his bottom lip as he considered what the five would be. "Um….I miss her singing. She wasn't bad, but she wasn't Judy Garland or anything like that, but still she'd sing. To everything. To songs on the radio. Songs in her head. She was always singing…singing or humming. I miss the way she smelled…she always smelled clean. Like she'd just taken a bath even if she'd jogged miles. I miss how tipsy and giggly she'd get after one drink." He ran his hands through is hair once more, leaned his head back against the wall, and sighed. "I miss how she'd sometimes talk in her sleep and say my name when she did. And I miss her cold feet. She'd always walk around barefoot and her toes would be ice cold. And of course she'd put them on me whenever she could….ha." Jack looked up to Spot and smiled sadly. "Your turn," he said, "Top five things you miss about Jo."

"The sex."

"That doesn't count."

"I know," said Spot, "But I do miss it, and I had to see if you were paying attention and did not get lost in your sad, sappy Sarah dream world again." He cleared his throat and then looked at the ceiling. "Her compulsive neatness…the way she felt the need to straighten up my bathroom whenever she came over. The way she'd line up her shoes and colour code her closet…ha. It was completely absurd. Um, I miss the way she'd brush that one lock out of her eyes that kept falling into her face whenever she was busy doing anything. I miss how she'd talk to herself…you know, go over her lines and stuff. I miss how she carried herself…she walked around like she didn't care what she looked like, but she was also so elegant, graceful….beautiful. Though she'd disagree with you if you told her she was. And five? Well…..five….let's see….oh. I've got it – I miss how she'd say, 'Spot Conlon, I hate you,' and wrinkle her nose whenever I'd best her in anything."

Spot glanced at Jack out of the corner of his eye and the two locked stares, slightly forlorn expressions over both of their faces and an uncomfortable, tense silence filling the room. Even though his relationship was months over, Jack had still spoken of Sarah wistfully and had felt himself coming near to being a bit choked up. Yet, Spot's ease and matter of fact tone that he had used when discussing Josephine mystified Jack. Their relationship had ended merely weeks earlier, but Spot seemed to be well on his way toward total recovery while Jack still felt as though he were mourning.

"So," Jack spoke up, anxious to restore the lightness to their conversation, " I'm almost done filling out that paperwork for the scholarship. God, I hope I get it cause my apprenticeship it almost over. I need it. I'm almost done with that Goddamn awful extensive writing sample that you have to submit. Fuck essays. I thought I was through with that when high school ended. But I think I've got a good chance of getting this thing. I mean, I should get it, I've put enough time and effort into it. I fucking deserve it for as much as I do. I could sure use it right now…money being a little _nonexistent_ as it is."

"Daddy the bastard, or uh, _dearest_'s check came in yesterday. Do you, um, want a loan?" Spot offered, once again his attention trained on his painting.

Jack grimaced. "I don't take charity."

Spot raised an eyebrow. "Oh, come off it Jack. You just rent your apartment out to strange people for weeks at a time instead. Like that's better than bummin' a few bucks off of me."

Jack glared at Spot as another uncomfortable silence fell heavy upon the room. An uncomfortable silence which Jack felt the desperate need to penetrate. "So, Spot, what are we listening to?"

"It's Chet Baker," Spot mumbled though his half closed lips which a cigarette was caught between.

"Oh."

……………….

_Ring._

Audrey had been re-hanging one of her curtained "walls" when the phone rang. It seemed that one of her safety pin makeshift hangers had failed her and with a slight accidental tug, half of an entire wall had come crashing down. Or, rather, softly fallen to the floor. Audrey stood on a chair, three safety pins in her mouth and two in one hand, the other hand holding up the curtain. She hummed to herself….humming intermingled with pieces of lyrics to "My Funny Valentine." The phone rang twice before she decided to answer it, and it was working on its fifth ring by the time she had figured out a way to drape the curtain so that it didn't fall, where to put down the safety pins and how to dismount the chair safely. She tripped, stumbled, then hopped to the phone and picked it up with a panting "Ello?"

A very familiar male voice on the other end cheerfully responded with, "How goes it A? You sound a bit alarmed and breathless. Did I…_interrupt_ something by chance?"

Audrey's mouth curled into a sly smile, "Don't you bet on it, Christian Nellwyn. Besides, how dare you assume such thin's? Ya don't know anythin'. So, don't you go 'round makin' lofty assumptions after not speaking to me for weeks."

She could hear the smirk on her brother's face as he rallied in his own defense, "Me not call? Ya can pick up a phone too, ya know sis! Do it. It's easy. I swear it to ya." He paused to laugh. "You're a regular Yank now, aren't ya? I can positively hear that charming American twang coming through in your voice."

Audrey sighed. "Oh, can it, Kit. It is not."

But he persisted. "No, really. You're turnin' your back on us. D'I need to make ya sing "God Save The Queen?" C'mon now…. Please don't tell me that you don't love Her Majesty. She'd be awfully sorry to hear that. Sing with me, love - _God save our gracious Queen, Long live our noble Queen_… Aren't you feeling right patriotic now?"

"So very." She rolled her eyes. "But no, Kit. I ha' not forgotten our mother country. You'd be so proud. The other day in jewelry class, I drilled a hole in a crown – five pence piece if you were wonderin' – and am currently sporting it as a fine earring."

"You're right," he replied. "I'm very proud indeed. I got no idea why you'd want to wear a crown on ya ear, but I'm proud regardless. And I see you haven't changed at all. Still your same offbeat self?"

"Well, good," Audrey said. She was glad to talk to someone from home once again. Moreso, she was glad to talk to her brother – the man who, besides her brother, was probably her favourite human being in existence. As she chatted with him happily, comfort set in and a thickening accent and quick tongued speech followed. After several moments of cheerful banter and mock taunting, the tone of her voice then changed to concern as she asked, "How's Da? Is 'e takin' his medicine at all?"

"Yeah," Kit responded, "Least, I think 'e is. I check up on 'im at times, and he swears 'e is. Don't know whether to believe him or no' though. Ol' geezer. Stubborn old man."

"Bah – he's goin' to die and leave us both orphans."

"Most probably," was her brother's answer. "And how are you doin' A? Is everythin'…..alright?" Kit's jovial, teasing voice was suddenly most serious. Grave, even.

Audrey was a bit taken aback at his question. It wasn't that it was something she was offended by or even unaccustomed to hearing. She had simply not heard it for quite sometime, and in addition, she had never really known how to properly respond to it. "Yeah. Yeah, of course," she stuttered, stumbling over her words despite her efforts to remain cool and nonchalant about the entire thing.

"You sure? There's nothing-"

"I'm fine Kit. Really." Her voice was assured. Calm, but stern. He immediately noted her tone and heeded its warning.

"Well, I just thought I'd give ya a ring, since you are m'sister and all. Figured it'd be the brotherly thing to do."

"Maybe."

"Livvy says to tell ya that she sends her love."

"Tell 'er that I love her too."

"Oh, so ya love 'er, but you don't love ya dear ol' brother? I see how ya wanna be now, Audrey, love."

"Shut ya face, Christian."

He laughed. "Well, cheers then."

"G'bye."

Audrey grinned and rolled her eyes. Shook her head. She'd not moved more than four feet away from the phone when it started to ring once more. Not giving a second thought to who it could be, she picked it up and answered with a whining, "Kit, what do you want now?"

"Who's Kit?"

Audrey was startled by the strange voice's remark. Flustered, all she could offer was, "Well, not you I suppose."

"I'm Jack," the voice on the other end told her.

She breathed a small sigh of relief as she remembered the boy from Arc whose number she had set afire contrary to Raven's advice. Of course he would call. _Of course._ To Audrey, this was simply God's little way of getting her back for disposing of another seemingly perfectly nice boy. She didn't remember giving Jack her number. However, she had thoroughly drunk herself into an anti-remembering state that night, so she supposed she must have passed it along to him somehow. "Oh, hello Jack."

"Hello. Who's Kit?"

"M'brother," Audrey answered, "Back in England."

"Oh," Jack responded. "Well…" he paused, "I was just wondering…."

Audrey rolled her eyes. Procrastination and hesitation annoyed her equally. "Yes Jack?" she blurted out, hoping to maybe encourage him to speed things along.

"Well Audrey," he said, "Can you come out to play today?"

"Is this your cute little 'Dear Prudence'-esque way of asking me out?"

"Yes."

"Though it is rather charming, I regret to tell you that I'll have to refuse. I've got so much to do, I'll be lucky if I can step one foot out of the studio today. I'm sorry Jack. Maybe some other time?" she bit her bottom lip as she lied and hoped he didn't notice.

"You're really disciplined, aren't you? Focused and everything."

"I have to be," she responded.

…………...

Jack sucked the last bit of smoke and nicotine from his cigarette, tossed it aside and jammed his hand into his pocket. He walked blindly through the crowd, his eyes focused on the ground as he simmered in disgust, heartache, and disconsolation. His best friend Davey, it seemed, had forgotten that his sweet-faced sister was coming for a visit with her new fiancée in tow. So, after an hour or so of studying at David's family's apartment, Jack was more than a bit jolted when he looked up from his history text to see Sarah's smiling face.

All Jack could do was muster up a mumbled "hello" when she breezed though the door, radiantly adorned in sunshine and pre-wedded bliss, dispensing kisses and gushing greetings. She'd stopped abruptly when she found Jack standing before her, and a strange look of sadness passed over her face for a brief second. Jack rose, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and bravely shook the hand of her intended, Nathan Wentworth - a strapping, young man with a square jaw and a Columbia education. He then collected his books and wove an elaborate but believably untrue excuse as to why he could not stay and quickly walked out of the door.

Sarah had wanted marriage more than anything. She was thoroughly ready for the white picket fence, the two point three children and the dog if Jack should ever say the word. They'd dated for three and a half years. What had gone wrong, neither could really say. Though it could be said that it was in part due to the fact that they had met so young. They were both seventeen – young enough to still believe in and cling to idyllic childhood dreams. Sarah had wanted the fairy tale, and for quite some time, Jack had worked hard to make it come true. Sadly, such good intentions quickly faded away when put up against life's pressures. Both grew older and grew apart. Jack and Sarah tried all they knew how to make it somehow work and held onto each other for as long as they could. Finally, on one cold February evening, Sarah burst into tears and said that "didn't it seem that they were staying together for the sake of the relationship they had worked so hard at instead of for the love of the other?" Jack couldn't disagree. It took a week of salty, tear-tasting kisses, sincere apologies, and nostalgic rehashing before the break was final. Now October, it had all been over seven months ago. However, Jack found that he still could not see her or think about her for very long without feeling that same sharp, painful twinge in his chest.

And the other girl. She was..._odd,_ to say the least. Sure, he'd spouted off some properly clever lines out of his drunkenness. But where had that gotten him? It had brought him as far as nowhere. She'd rejected him and merely thinking of all the flattering, glorifying nonsense he'd boldly rambled to her that night brought a coloured, stinging blush to his cheeks already harshly kissed by the cold wind.

"_Your name wouldn't happen to be Diana?" he's asked. The girl stared at blankly for a moment before a sly grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. She tossed her head back and laughed, and Jack felt highly embarrassed. He looked down to his feet – shined his shoes with his eyes and chided himself under his breath for saying something so goddamn stupid._

"_You mean like the goddess?" she said, the amused grin still painted over her mouth._

_Jack nodded without moving his gaze any higher than the tops of his shoes. She laughed again. "It's Audrey," he heard her say. Bringing his gaze up to meet hers, he repeated half of her statement. "Audrey." He liked the sound of it, liked the way it rolled off of his tongue. It was a nice name, he decided. Quite a welcome change from the Jennifers and Amandas currently plaguing the world. The Madisons, Mackenzies, Laurens. Ashleys, Jessicas, Michelles, Heathers, Amys, and Julies – Jack had known them all. "Were you named after Audrey Hepburn or something?"_

_Audrey blinked and paused before she answered. "For a moment there, I thought you were going to ask me that one generic, overused question that comes up in every conversation between two college students – What's you're major?" She rolled her eyes and bit her bottom lip. "I'm thoroughly glad you did not. Really, words cannot speak of how glad I am. Saves me the strange look you'll give me and the speech I'll need to give you to explain myself. Funny you should mention Madame Hepburn though. Actually, I was named after my father's grandmother – Audrey Jane Beck. However, I think the only reason my mother consented was that, in her mind, she was naming me after Audrey Hepburn."_

As he thought more of the girl from Arc in his Sarah-altered mindset, Jack began whip himself into a self-contained frenzy of jealousy, heartbrokenness, humiliation, and hopelessness. His thoughts made him oblivious to the world around him, and he walked blindly, his pace quickening by the moment. "So much for all the promises you made," he muttered under his breath in between deep drags from his cigarette. "So much for your endearing charm. Guess they served you well, Jack."

…………..

"Watch where you're bloody fucking goin'!" Audrey yelled, frantically stooping to pick up the drawings and books that were now tragically scattered all over the sidewalk. "Cack-handed clot-" she mumbled under her breath as she hurried gathered up them before they were trod upon by hundreds of hurrying feet. She collected all the she could, rumpling and creasing some of the pages in the process. She cursed. Cursed under her breath her luck and the unfortunate imbecile who had clumsily interjected himself into her path. The same imbecile that was now holding out a stack of papers in offering.

"Sorry about that," it said.

Audrey took the papers from him. Her eyes traced the hand to the arm and then up the shoulder to the face that carried an expression that was comprised of one part painful, yet amused grin, and one part "I can't believe what a fuck-up I am" cringe. When she finally looked the hapless boy in the eye, she could feel her cheeks start to quickly burn an imposing, girlish pink.

"Hey," Jack said to her, "I thought you had to-"

"I did," she interrupted decidedly. "But I decided to take a break, and um, retrieve these from my locker in the studios." She shrugged and continued on with her story, hoping that if she kept talking, he might not have an opportunity to interject any more questions that she really had no answers for. She'd dealt with more than one rejected boy in her time, and in her experience, none were very pleasant. They, in fact, were quite anti-pleasant…bitter and childish. Suspicious. "I've been meaning to grab them for some time, but I simply kept forgetting. It turns out that I finally needed them, and could not carry on with what I was doing until I had them to refer to. I figured it couldn't take that long to just dash out, walk a few blocks, and get them. Therefore, I took a break."

"Oh," he responded. "So, where're ya headed?"

Still looking amused and partially astonished at the nature of their meeting and that he hadn't sought any further explanation from mer, she gestured with her head. "That way."

"Ah, me too," he responded. "I'll accompany you."

Audrey knew this was a lie. She was neither blind nor oblivious. He'd clearly been going the opposite way when he'd crashed into her. Always considering herself to be a one to pick up on seemingly insignificant clues, she was clever enough to recognize another subtle pick up line when she saw one. _You lying bastard_, Audrey thought to herself, _You're just trying to get into my pants. But I'll let you walk me home because I like your smile._ Her eyes narrowed and she looked at him as though she were scrutinizing him. Cocking her head to the side, she warily asked, "Now, how do I know that you've not got some hidden agenda to drag me into a dark alley and brutally murder me?"

"Cause I'm telling ya, that's why," Jack responded with a confident smirk. "Can I carry any of that for you?"

"No. I'm quite well enough to do it, thank you," she refused, but then wisely relented. There was no sense in her struggling to carry the heavy load if there was a perfectly able, strapping young boy fawning over her and just dying to bear her burden. "Hmm, well alright, you may come with me and you may take these. But I'm warning you," she turned toward him and raised her forefinger to emphasize her warning, "I have taken self-defense class, I have an older brother who liked to pick fights with me, and I'm very resourceful."

"Alright," said Jack, holding up his one free hand as though to prove his innocent intentions.

"Besides, Ray is there," Audrey stated, turning to lead Jack back to her building in Greenwich. "And she'll hear me scream if you try anything. However, if I were you, I wouldn't try anything because Ray is awfully vicious when one annoys her even slightly. Ha! I can't imagine how dangerous she'd be if she ever truly had cause to be violent."

…………….

_Click._

Audrey smiled at Jack after she had slid her key out of the lock. "This is a new experience for me," she said with a grin, "Contrary to what you're probably thinking, I don't usually invite strange boys home." Turning away, she pushed opened the door and looked inside to find the room empty. "Hello?" she called out, walking inside with Jack following closely behind. When no voice responded, she scowled and then attempted once more, this time though clenched teeth. "Are you home Raven, love?" Again, no answer was heard. Annoyed, she threw her keys in a large bowl set on the table beside the doorway. Hanging her coat on a nearby hook, she said, "Oh well, I suppose she's made a lying fool out of me yet again. Now, please don't do anything dastardly because there'll be no one handy to save me."

Jack took a few steps in and gave the dimly lit place a once-over. "This is a dorm, you said…right?"

Audrey shrugged and kicked her shoes off by the door. She bent over to pull her legwarmers up and said, "Well, kind of. It's married student housing." And without a word of further explanation, she padded sock-footed into the kitchen leaving Jack standing at the door with a perplexed expression rapidly overtaking his face.

The words had hit Jack like a sledgehammer. _Married student housing. Married._ "Married student housing?" he repeated weakly, hoping Audrey would not notice the resounding shock in his voice.

He heard her laugh from the kitchen and saw her poke her head around the corner. "Yes. Ray and I live here. By the way, I'm sorry there's no light. We've been having a bit of _difficulty_ with that these days."

"Ray?" Jack asked in thorough disbelief. "You live here with Ray?" His voice remained somewhat calm, but inside he was screaming. _Married student housing? Ray? Her husband. Audrey's husband. She had brought him here to her apartment where she lived with her Ray to do God knows what. _He looked around the room frantically, sizing up the situation and wondering what would be the quickest way for him to get the hell out of there.

"Yes." Audrey emerged from the kitchen with a mug in her hand in which a tea bag lay steeping. "Would you like something to drink?"

Jack shook his head. Perhaps a little too emphatically because Audrey gave him a strange, questioning smile of bemusement. "Alright," she said, turning and walking toward one of the patterned curtains. "I'm sorry that there's nowhere to sit. Would you like to see my studio?"

"Are you married?" Jack blurted out.

Audrey turned around, her brows knitted. "Wha?" She thought for a second and then her facial expression eased once more into amusement. "Oh, you mean because of…" She waved her hand to gesture around the apartment. "Right. Of course you do. Poor thing, I do believe you're really worried about this. It's endearing really. Well, no. Not married. It's all an elaborate hoax, I fear. Besides, I'm far too young for marriage, don't you think?"

"_It'd be easy," Ray had said, I'll just change the name on my checks to read "Ray" instead of "Mia Raven," and you'll always be the one to drop off the rent money. We'll just tell people that you insisted on keeping your last name and I'll look at you and shrug and say, "I dunno. I think it's an artist thing."_

"You see," Audrey began relating the story to a very befuddled, but intrigued Jack, "Raven and I met via NYU's housing department. They heaped us together in one too-small dorm room. There was barely enough room to walk around, much less to put up an easel, store paintings, or in Ray's case, go through lines or rehearse staging. Therefore, being resourceful girls…well, she's resourceful, I'm just cunning and always in search of a way to manipulate the system to get what I want…we cooked up a scheme. We'd pretend to get married, fill out a few forms, and voila! We now have this fabulous dump to show for our clever deception." She smiled at Jack triumphantly and motioned to the curtains, "Now, I bet you're wondering about these. You see, being that it was married student housing, there was, of course, only one bedroom. It was somewhat small, so I let Ray have it because she desperately needs her privacy. And frankly, because I wanted her to carry on whatever she does behind closed doors so that I don't have to see it. The living room was larger, so I figured, who needs a living room anyway? We're in our twenties. We practically live in our bedrooms anyway. So, I rigged up some rods to hang from the ceiling and attached curtains to them. It suits my needs just fine, I must say." She admired the curtains for a second and then looked to Jack who stood before her with his mouth halfway hanging open. "I suppose you must find the entire thing terribly amusing."

"If it was funny, then I'd be laughing," he finally said and shook his head in disbelief. "Never in a million years could I ever have thought of something so odd, so elaborate, and so fucking brilliant as that."

"You think I'm fucking brilliant?"

"I do."

Audrey nodded. "Yes, I quite like that. Don't ever stop thinking that about me." She looked up to the ceiling. Her eyes fell upon the empty light fixture about her, and she scowled. "So, Jack," she began once more, "I don't believe I have asked you any of the essential questions yet."

"Like what?"

"Oh," Audrey took a sip from her mug, "well, simple things like, how old are you? Where're you from? What do you do? What's your favourite colour?"

"My favourite colour is an essential piece of information?"

"Yes. To me, it is. I paint. Colour matters volumes to me."

Jack smirked. "Alright, then. Let's see – 21, here, but I was born in Santa Fe. I 'do' college…and several other little jobs on the side. My favourite colour is blue. Do I have to tell you which blue…like navy blue or light blue? Can it just be blue?"

Audrey frowned and wrinkled her nose. "How boring," she remarked.

"What?" Jack asked, a bit offended, "Me?"

"No, blue," she spat the word out with disgust. She shook her head as to ward off her displeasure and promptly changed the subject. "NYU?" she asked.

"No, Hunter College. I'm studying Journalism," he offered.

"Ah, I was about to ask you that. How'd you know?"

Jack tapped the side of his head with his forefinger and then pointed toward her. "Just smart, I guess."

Audrey nodded. "So, Journalism? Broadcast or print?"

"Print – newspaper."

"War correspondent? Columnist? World affairs? Music review – no, don't go into that. You'd be bloody awful. You didn't know Lamb," she mumbled the last part under her breath, talking more to herself than to Jack.

He shot her a challenging look. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, but just for the record, I did." He paused. "And what's this about Lamb?"

"At Arc the other night. The dee-jay played them and you had no idea who they were. I told you that you should be ashamed of yourself." Audrey took another sip and with a mischievous grin asked, "Are you going to interview me?"

To which Jack laughed. "The first thing they tell you in your entry level media writing class," he said, "is not to write about the art students. I guess the school newspaper had a superfluous amount of articles about them or somethin'. Anyway, we're supposed to write about the horticulture majors because they never get any press."

"Ah, well maybe another time." She shrugged. "So, why blue?"

"Why so many questions?" Jack countered.

Audrey shrugged. "I'm just curious by nature, I suppose."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"I don't see why not."

"Alright," said Jack, "What is your last name?"

"Oh, is that all? That's perfectly harmless. I suppose I can tell you that. It's Nellwyn." With that, she leaned her head back against the wall and hummed a bar of music that played nowhere but in her mind. After a while, she cocked her head to the side and slyly grinned at Jack once more.

"What's that for?" Jack asked. He had gotten the impression that she was a bit of a schemer and took her smirk as a sign that she was formulating something.

Audrey shrugged and slightly shook her head in a nonchalant fashion.

"Uh, no. No, you don't. You're thinkin' something. I know you are," Jack countered.

"Alright," she said quietly, still smiling, "I was just wondering…"

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering when exactly you plan to kiss me."

"Huh?"

"Don't play daft with me. I know you want to. Though you might not remember it now, you have tried to before. (Unsuccessfully, I might add.) Besides, now it's so plainly written all over your face….though you've tried so carefully to hide it from me. Do not doubt the feminine power of observation."

Jack tried to respond with an intelligent remark, but could produce only a nervous laugh.

"What's the matter? Don't you want to now?"

Of course he wanted to. Whenever he looked at her face, Jack couldn't help but want anything more. To kiss her. To take her hand and break her stride. Though he knew absolutely nothing about who she was or what she was about, he could not fight an overwhelming desire to make her laugh for all the times her eyes might have cried needlessly. But he was miles too far ahead of himself, and he knew it. It was far too early for him to be feeling anything remotely of this nature. Wasn't it? "Don't I want to….?

"Kiss me," she said. "Kiss me like you mean it." Audrey bit her bottom lip and smiled aloofly at Jack as though she were blissfully unaware of the immense pressure she was laying upon him.

Jack stared silently for a few moments. He was desperately trying to piece together a sentence in his head he could say to somehow relieve some of the tension that grew thick between the two near strangers. He had performance anxiety. Yes, that was it. Stage fright, so to speak. And though Audrey's smile looked ever so inviting, Jack Kelly could not budge himself from the square foot of floor upon which he stood.

Audrey seemed to take note of the immense difficulty Jack was experiencing at that moment. She shrugged. "Oh well, perhaps another day. I didn't know it would be so much of an ordeal." She pushed away from the wall. "Would you like to see the paintings now?" Jack nodded and she led him to a patterned curtain. As she pulled it back, the pungent odor of turpentine and paint hit his nostrils. He looked around…in the space was an old armoire, an easel, and at least a dozen paintings lining the walls. There were papers rolled up and standing in the corner. Books lined the baseboard underneath the window, wrapped the wall, and came to an abrupt stop at the side of the unmade bed. A desk chair sat in front of the easel, and on every available flat surface near the easel were paints, brushes, sketchbooks, pencils, charcoal, turpentine jars, rags, linseed oil, and anything else imaginable that could make a mark on canvas or paper. Audrey turned to Jack and waved her hand around the room. "So, here they are," she said. "What do you think?'

Jack gazed intently at the paintings. They were abstract, and he could find no slight sign of representation to cling to. In fact, all he saw was colour. Soft colour. Intense colour. Dark, smoky colours that undulated and melted into a haze of pale hue. They were beautiful and somewhat mystifying, but Jack could find no appropriate words to describe them. He wracked his mind for something to say because he was well aware that she was eagerly awaiting some sort of comment, yet, all that came forth when he opened his mouth was a montone, "uhhhhh…"

Audrey responded with a shrug and a sigh. "Good art won't match your sofa," she said simply.

"I know that," Jack said. As if he thought she needed further convincing, he added, "I know a some things about art. I write a little."

"Do you?" she said, her voice lilting, rising at the end and her eyes widening with her piqued interest.

"Yes," Jack said, "You know I even wrote a poem about you.

"Really?" If her eyes weren't wide before, they were perfectly massive after Jack's last comment. " Let me read it," she begged…or rather commanded. He produced a folded piece of paper from his jeans pocket and handed it to her. She unfolded it hurriedly with nimble fingers and scanned the text quickly. After she finished, she nodded and handed it back to Jack. "It's written like a journalist," was her only comment.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well…" Audrey paused to gather words that would explain without criticizing, "it's about what its about…not how it's about."

"And you know this how?"

"I just know these things," she said simply.

………….

Lute's dorm room was a single. It had been the only lottery she'd ever won, she claimed. It was her sanctuary, her "hot club": pictures of Chet Baker and Duke Ellington, mixed in with her favourite beautiful men of the month littered the walls, along with World World II propaganda, posters of swing dancers, and photographs of her high school marching band. ("Pride of the Mountaineers, baby!" she was sure to add whenever she spoke of them.) After much searching, she'd even managed to secure an old "Swing Heil" poster that she had convinced herself was authentic. She and her three friends were now sprawled across the room. Soft strains of a Benny Goodman record could be heard playing softly in the background and a muted Marilyn Monroe strutted and sashayed in black and white on the TV screen.

Audrey stood at the window, holding back one side of the drapes with her hand. The insistent rain had driven them indoors on that Saturday night. She looked out upon Manhattan. The drops of water on the window refracted the lights and made the city sparkle more than usual. Often, she had felt insignificant in comparison to the magnitude of New York and its sheer volumes of inhabitants. Sometimes she wondered what she was doing there, a naïve girl from Brighton. She'd set out from England with great hopes – the city was to be a chance for her to start over, a chance for her to make her mark in the world.

Ha," she laughed softly to herself. What a fool she had been for thinking that she could stand out in a sea of thousands of other hopefuls who were as equally talented and equally hungry as she was. Maybe she should have done what her father had suggested and gone into a scientific field. "Why don't you do something more useful than art?" he had told her on more than one occasion, "Why not go into engineering or medicine? Something that will actually make you some money so that you won't have to starve." The opportunity had been present. Because she'd had extremely high marks in math and science in her secondary school and had graduated at the top of her class, she'd received a scholarship from the Physics and Engineering Society of Brighton void only if she would go into a mathematical or scientific field. She'd carefully considered all of her options and eventually decided that she'd study Astrophysics and Rocket Propulsion at Cambridge in London. However, when a last minute scholarship came in offering her equal money to go into Liberal Arts, she'd quickly changed her mind and decided to chase her dream of painting.

Raven sat on the edge of Lute's bed, hungrily digging through Audrey's black bag in a search for any art magazine she could find. As soon as she'd find one, she'd hurriedly thumbed through it, looking for any article or picture of the famed Spot Conlon. Scouring the pages for any mention of his name, no matter how small. She'd been bragging about him to her friend for a week, and now she wanted to show the others her fabulous "discovery." She had even gone so far as dubbing him "the man she would someday marry…or at least screw." Upon finding nothing in one, she'd throw it down on the floor next to Audrey's things, and begin ransacking the bag for another one. "There's no Spot in any of these," Ray complained, her voice high and whining, "Where is his gorgeous little face?" She flipped a page angrily and it made a sharp crinkling noise which pricked Audrey's ears and caused her to cringe as if Ray had injured her with the same violence of force.

"Would you please try to be a bit more gentle with those?" Audrey asked from her stance at the window, "I haven't read some of them. And besides, they cost a fortune. A fortune that I don't have." She walked over to where Raven sat and snatched the magazine out of her hand. Then she lovingly flattened the pages the girl had crinkled in her fervent, frantic search. From one of the pages, a young, blonde eager looking man smiled back at her. He looked young – no more than two years her senior and wore a patch over his left eye. The boy was pictured standings in front of several large canvases. The title above his photograph read "Kid Blink: Heir to A Dynasty." Audrey skimmed over a few paragraphs and learned that the "Kid" was actually Emerson Blinkley III, son of E. Blinkley and grandson of Emerson Wathesworth Blinkley . She knew the two elders by name. They'd been highly revered painters in the New York scene for quite some time. She wanted to stop right there, for she was feeling sick with jealousy already. But her insistent curiosity prodded her on. Born in Maine. Two sisters, one brother. Mother's name is Marlena, father is very proud. Her eye came to an abrupt stop when it fell upon one seemingly benign two digit number.

21.

The others must have noticed Audrey's face change to a fallen expression because she heard Nicole's voice ask softly, "What's wrong, dear?"

Audrey laughed. It was a small incredulous laugh that she made to keep herself from crying. "Kid Blink is my age," she replied simply. Audrey sighed deeply and rolled her eyes, tossing the magazine to the bed. "Who wants to read this garbage anyway?" she said, "I, for one, do not." These things she said to disguise what she truly felt. Inside, her heart was weeping in jealousy, and her head was demanding to know just what she had been bloody doing with her life.

"Well, that's a lie if I've ever heard one," Ray piped up. "You always read that crap. And then, afterward, you always get that same sad look on your face."

"It's just that…that…"Audrey threw her hands up in the air and groaned. "It's because no one works for anything these days. Isn't that what the art life is about? Working? Working your ass off and starving in the process because you're so bloody poor. Living in a dump but being so madly happy because you're doing what you love. Whatever happened to la vie boheme? Aren't artists supposed to accept this life and embrace it as the correct way? Why, then, tell me…why is every kid who walks in off the street with a paintbrush in his hand being simply handed fame, fortune, and a loft on the upper east side? Why!"

The four other girls were silent. They were used to Audrey's impassioned rants about art and money. About needing to earn one's place in life. They never knew quite what to say to answer or questions or to calm her down. Today was no exception. Finally, Ray gave her friend a wise little smile as she shook her head as if Audrey were a child who had asked if she could grow wings and fly. "Silly girl," she said with a slight note of condescension in her voice, "Audrey, I swear – you're such an idealist."

"Oh, don't say it like that!" Audrey lamented. "It just kills me! You make me sound so stupid. Like some naïve, wide-eyed child."

"Well," Raven answered, "You are a naïve, wide-eyed child."

Audrey trained her gaze to Raven's face with fiery darts in her eyes. Her voice dripped of venomous poison as she spat out, "Shut up."

…………………

A/N: "Good art won't match your sofa" and "If it was funny, then I'd be laughing" borrowed from Keza and her challenge group. "Top five" list inspired by "High Fidelity." Newsies does not belong to me. Neither does the little lines from it that I've stolen and scattered through out the story to make it more "newsified." And if you're wondering why I talk so bloody much about art, I should tell you that I'm a painter by trade and I can't help but talk about it.

Madison Square: I now pronounce you story and wife. May you live happily ever after.

LadyRach: My ever faithful reviewer. Here is more dearest Audrey for you. (and isn't she something in this one? pets Audrey)

Dreamer110: I'm painting with words? Hurrah! Mission accomplished. Tis the very thing I set out to do.

Lisa: I'm glad you read all the way through. (Even though it tends to be so bloody long.)

Lucky: It is a rewrite! I started this story in January and dropped it in March because I was disgusted. In July, I realized it was a pretty good concept, but needed some major changes. Yes, this brings us up to the present. Two points to you for remembering.


	3. all theory, no action

A/N: This chapter is fluff. Plain and simple. But I think a little fluff is necessary sometimes.

Chapter Three. all theory, no action.

Jack absently flipped through the pages of Newsweek and shifted positions in the uncomfortable straight backed chair. He had been up since five in order to make it on time to his internship at The Post by six. It was now twelve thirty seven, and at last count, Jack had been sitting in the lobby of the Student Aid, Scholarship, and Programs office for nearly an hour. Apparently, he must wait to see a counselor, and the counselors were quite in demand. He checked his watch, becoming more restless and anxious every passing minute for he was due back at the post by one thirty _sharp_. All he'd wanted to do was the check status of his scholarship. He did not understand why that required having a full blown conference with a counselor who had a waiting list longer than "21" in Midtown.

"Francis Kelly?" the woman at the desk called out in a tired, monotone voice. Jack quickly rose into a stand. "Finally," he thought and walked over.

"I see here that you're..." the woman looked down over the tops of her blue rimmed glasses and examined the paper on the clipboard before her.

"Applying for the Neuman Barnes Scholarship," Jack finished her sentence and then quickly delivered the rest of his spiel, "It's for the College of Santa Fe...journalism program. You see, I finished up the paperwork a while back and turned it in. I'm here to follow up. Just wanted to make certain that everything was, you and correct-"

"Yes, well, Ms. Mooney can see you now. If you just go through that door, she's the fourth desk on the left," the woman at the desk wasted no time in returning to her computer, which was obviously more interesting than Jack. He muttered a calm, but low voiced "thank you" and disappeared through the appointed doorway to go in search of the much sought after Ms. Mooney.

..........................

Jack had returned from the Scholarship office, downed his second cup of coffee and polished off another stack of articles needing proofing before Audrey finally came to from a semi-deep sleep. When her alarm clock squawked its unwelcome wake up call into her ear, Audrey hit the snooze button twice before turning it off completely. Twenty minutes later, she awoke and in her non-lucid state, mumbled curses at the alarm for never going off. She rolled out of bed....well, more fell than rolled. Upon placing her feet on the floor and making a poor attempt to walk, she kicked over a bottle and winced as a dull dagger of pain shot through her big toe. She looked around the room and cringed. Coke cans and the overturned bottle of rum littered the small space. All those empty cans and one half-eaten box of chocolate cake. Little mementos of the previous night's indulgence. An indulgence brought on by the frenzy of "painter's block" at eleven the night before a critique.

_She'd thrown a paintbrush and stared at the canvas, seething and taking heavy, bitter breaths. Her skin was crawling and hot like fire ants had penetrated her skin and were marching underneath. Rage. On an impulse, she threw a coat over her sweat shirt, not bothering to put her bra back on. Her pajama pant legs she rolled down and tucked back into her legwarmers. Slipped on worn out sneakers with the backs kicked in, grabbed her bag and marched out of the door. She shut it behind her with a forceful slam. The clerk behind the counter didn't bother to ID her because she coyly smiled at him, knowing that she was still somewhat attractive under her messy hair and haphazard coat. Audrey was aware that she was unconventionally pretty at best and thoroughly believed in exploiting it for anything it was worth.. Gratefully taking the bag that the pimple faced boy with glasses held out to her, she offered him a soft spoken thank you to reward his discretion and hurried back to her dump._

_The rest of the dark, night hours passed by in a wondrous blur of her moving brush, smeared streaks of paint, and the lightheaded dizzy fearlessness that can only come from being thoroughly sloshed. She'd giggled and mixed a fresh glass nearly every thirty minutes...all the while whipping herself into a thoroughly productive painting frenzy. She needed self-indulgence and substance abuse to fuel her artistic locomotive. Audrey found that she was not exempt to the inspirational crutch that other respected artists found in the bottle. She mixed rum into several cokes, and greedily took too large bites of the cake, smearing paint on the canvas in between in a delirious streak of brilliance brought on by intoxication, caffeine, and one glorious sugar high. When she finally passed out near dawn from sheer exhaustion and drunkenness, her painting was to a finished-like stage and sat drying on the easel. _

Though she may have derived a painting out of her substance and food abuse, she was now paying for it. Completely. She hated mornings. Being awake at any time that had an A.M. behind it gave her an utterly sick feeling in her stomach, Audrey felt that it was her duty to drag herself out of the bed she had only slept three hours in to attend class. Special Studies in Painting. Technically, she wasn't even supposed to be allowed into this class. Though she had quick-talked him and battled with charm and eager determination, the professor must have somehow also had faith in her ability. He had somehow believed in her enough to have break an area policy near set in stone and allow her entrance. Yes, she had been given a gift, and she would not repay the giver with mediocre performance and ingratitude.

Feeling as though she would either explode or shrivel up into nothingness, she plodded into the bathroom, stumbling once more – this time over a stray shoe. She groaned when it tripped her, she was too tired to curse it, having wasted all of her curses on the clock. The sick feeling twisted its way into her stomach and knotted it. She cursed mornings for literally making her physically ill, and Audrey swore that once she was established enough to have her say, she'd become completely nocturnal. Her life was just better lived that way. She looked into the mirror and grimaced. Bloodshot eyes. She reached for her eye drops and put some in, though God, she hated it. Her complexion was pale and chalky. "Damn," she told her reflection, "You look bloody awful. Okay. No more booze and cake before bed. I mean it this time."

Within eight minutes, Audrey had slipped out of her comatose state and was lucid. Lucid and late. She frantically raced around the apartment – brushing her teeth, putting on matching socks...trying to find her other shoe. Damn it! Where was her other shoe? Oh. She had tripped over it. In fifteen minutes, she had grabbed her bag and was out the door. Muttering expletives under her breath, she came to the realization that it was too late for her to stubbornly venture to class on foot. No, there was no time for that. She would have to take the filthy train. She shuddered at the mere thought of it.

_She rode the train for a half hour and listened to the most influential and decent mixed CD she had heard in a long time. For the record, she decided that it meant nothing that she had made it herself. (Humility is such a tired state of being, she thought to herself with a chuckle.). _

_Through her bleary eyes and altered state of mind, Audrey mused that trains that the potential to be the most beautiful thing. If she really tried, she could be most relaxed and at peace on a train. There was no pressure, no pressure to be anything...do anything. One needed only to just ride...and think...and watch the other people. Train rides are purpose. Both she andaAll of the others around her were heading somewhere. Across the aisle from her, there was a boy. A boy with a cellphone, an mp3 player, a palm pilot, and a magazine. She thought, how busy could this boy be? Audrey sat silently and wondered about the necessity of any of these...things, and was reminded of just how frivolous the human race had turned out to be. Be and are all the time. The girl who sat in front of her wore oversized hoop earrings and a shirt that said," i love guess" Audrey wanted so desperately to tap her on the shoulder and inform her that she had the choice not to campaign for Guess. That her billboard status was relative. _

_She reached class on time, but thoroughly out of breath. Taking a seat in the back, she readied herself for critique, secretly dreading it. The class was divided in half – one half she resented because they were better than her – more skilled, more driven, more focused, more creative. The other half she detested because they had no motivation or ideas...yet they slapped paint on the canvas as though they were painting a fence or exploring colour like a clumsy toddler Yet amazingly, they were somehow still able to back it up with endless nonsensical blathering that seemed intelligent but was really contrived and pre-rehearsed. It sounded like every other artist's statement to Audrey. There were a few in her class that she admired for what they were, but again, they were few and very much so. Putting her headphones on, she closed her eyes and convinced herself that if she lived through the next three hours gracefully, she would reward herself with a cookie and a long nap. She only had to survive those three hours. Torture._

.............................

"As for being yourself – why on earth should you be yourself; when instead of being yourself you can be a hundred, or a thousand, or a hundred thousand thousand other people? The very thought of being oneself in an epoch of interchangeable selves must appear supremely ridiculous."

"He's got a point," Audrey mused to herself and turned the page.

_"Here, read this," Professor Crespo had told her. They were meeting to discuss the paintings she'd be doing in his Special Studies class, and Audrey had explained that she had done a few paintings based on poetry for another class and would perhaps like to use verse as a "jumping off" point for future paintings. "Which poet?" had been his response. When Audrey answered with E.E. Cummings, Crespo lit up and stated that he had a book she should read that would perhaps help her to understand his poetry. Six Nonlectures was the title, and he handed it to her from his personal collection. The cover was worn and the book smelled of old paper and ink. He explained that it was no longer in print and simply asked that she take good care of it for him. She promised that she would and was, at the moment, pouring through it the way that other girls would the latest Cosmo._

"Fine and dandy: but, so far as I am concerned, poetry and every other art was and is and forever will be strictly and distinctly a question of individuality. If poetry were anything – like dropping an atombomb – which anyone did, anyone could become a poet merely by doing the necessary anything; what ever that anything might or might not entail. But (as it happens) poetry is being, not doing. If you wish to follow, even at a distance, the poet's calling (and here, as always I speak from my own totally biased and entirely personal point of view) you've got to come out of the measurable doing universe into the immeasurable house of being. I am quite aware that, wherever our socalled civilization has slithered, there's every reward and no punishment for unbeing. But if poetry is your goal, you've got to forget all about punishments, and all about rewards and all about selfstyled obligations and duties and responsibilities etcetera ad infinitum and remember one thing only: that it's you – nobody else – who determine your destiny and decide your fate. Nobody else can be alive for you; nor can you be alive for anybody else. Toms can be Dicks and Dicks can be Harrys, but none of them can ever be you. There's the artist's responsibility; and the most awful responsibility on earth. If you can take it, take it – and be. If you can't, cheer up and go about other people's business; and do (or undo) till you drop."

"Can I borrow your earrings?"

Audrey glanced up over the top of her book to see Raven standing before her, fully attired out in what could only be one of her "going out" outfits. "Which ones?" she asked, knowing fully well that which Raven wanted. She cocked an eyebrow, "The ones with the red crystal? The ones from Italy?"

"Those very ones."

"In the black box on the desk," Audrey distractedly mumbled, a bit reluctant to give away her earrings, but still very eager to return to her reading.

Ray made her way to the desk, heels rhythmically clicking against the wood floor as always and fished the desired pair out of the box. "Oh, you always have the best earrings. Clothes, eh, I can't say the same. But earrings...ahhhh! Wish me luck dear," Ray said, sticking the hooked post through her ear, "I've got a date with your favourite painter." With a wink, she added, "And mine."

Audrey's reaction lay somewhere among astonishment, disgust, and confusion. "How did you-"

"Ah, don't ask for my secrets," Ray paused holding up a finger to silence her. Yet, unable to contain her want for Audrey to praise her detective skills, she then blurted out, "Your friend Jack. I found his phone number among the rubble and ruins of your room, so I took it upon myself to call him. We hung out, I told him of my little Spot-lacking predicament and he was more than happy to help."

"You used him?"

Ray was taken aback, hand going to her heart in near shock. "I can't believe you'd think that," she said in horror, "As a matter of fact no, I didn't. Can't I just talk to someone once in a while without you thinking that I either want to fuck them or want to use them to get someone to fuck me? No. God. Jack and I actually hit it off. We get along, how would you say, 'smashingly?'" Ray turned and went back into her room. Over her shoulder, she called out, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

...................

"_What are you doing Mummy?" Audrey asked, not yet seven years old and peering over the counter with massive determination to see over it. She had smelled something warm and delicious wafting from the kitchen and being the curious sort that she was, could not resist discovering what it was._

"_I'm baking, love," her mother answered, bringing a filled tray down for Audrey's eager eyes to see. Placing the tray into the oven, she returned to her daughter and ran her hand over the girl's head to smooth her messy curls. She brushed Audrey's bangs out of her eyes and noticed the paper in her child's left hand. "What have you there, Audrey love?" she asked._

"_I drew you a picture," the child answered decidedly. "See?" She brought the crayon drawing up and proudly held it in front of her own face for her mother to see._

"_Ohhh," her mother breathed, "It's lovely darling."_

"_I know," Audrey answered with certainty. Her reply brought a chuckle out of her mother. "It only took me a little bit of Sesame Street to draw. Look...here's our house, and here's you and Da. And there's Kit when he's not being a mean duck to me, and there's me with that pink dress on that you won't buy me."_

"_I see," said her mother, "And what is this?" She pointed to a red object that resembled a car._

"_What?" Audrey looked over the top of her picture and then said offhandedly, "Oh, that's the shiny red fast car that Da's going to buy you." Audrey thought for a moment and then clapped her hand over her mouth which had formed a rather round "o." "But oh, I didn't tell you that, okay? You don't know."_

"_It's forgotten, ducky," her mother said with a warm smile and pulled the child into her embrace. _

Audrey woke up suddenly. She was alone in the dark apartment and incredibly disoriented. She got out of bed and stumbled sleepily over to the window. Still in a non-lucid state, her body was seized with a rush of panic as she thought about the five page artist's statement of intent that was due the next morning. The same five page paper she had not yet written. For three minutes of confusion, she wracked her brain for a way to finish it before nine the next morning. Maybe if she stayed up all night and wrote...but no...what would she write? She had no idea. Nearly on the edge of a full blown panic attack in which she'd need to do everything, but get nothing done – she suddenly realized that the deadline had been pushed back to Wednesday. She sighed in relief and reveled in the two day cushion. Back in Brighton, she recalled her friend named Tess that used to cross herself whenever she received good or relieving news. Cross herself as though it were a gesture of thank you to God. Audrey wondered what she needed to go through that display...why she couldn't just tell God "thank you" and be through with it. People are far too overcomplicated for their own good, and she thought that they liked themselves that way.

Still smelling something baking, Audrey wrapped her blanket around her and padded into the kitchen. To her surprise, she found Raven standing there, still fully dressed in her "going out" clothes complete with heels. "Ray...why are you baking at four forty five in the morning?" Audrey asked and sniffed the air. "And what is that? Bruschetta? Do we even have the things with which to make bruschetta?"

"Yes, well, I just got in," Ray answered, opening the oven to check her food. "Stopped by the store on my way home."

"You went grocery shopping?" Audrey said with her eyes wide with shock at the thought of Raven setting foot in a place where food did not come prepared and delivered to one on a tray. "What is wrong with you?"

"I dunno...I think it's Spot...foxy thing that he is," Raven pulled off her oven mitts and tossed them on the counter. She noticed Audrey's slightly ajar mouth and rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't act so surprised. I can cook, kiddo. Even if I don't do it much."

Audrey looked up at the ceiling and was blinding by a singular light fixture. Her amazement perpetuated. "And you bought light bulbs?" she said, her voice still utterly full with awe.

"Yes," Ray answered. "Amazing, isn't it?"

Audrey remembered reading something once, not too long ago....something about it being spring, and in spring anything may happen.

Absolutely anything.

Watching Ray prancing around the kitchen in four inch heels at the ripe hour of five am, after she'd returned from a shopping trip made Audrey feel that there need be an amendment to that theory. In her head she made a mental note: And in recognition of the fact that, as recent events have shown, almost anything can happen in November.

"So, Ray, what happened on this date that was so magical?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Ray said in a singsong voice as she pulled the tray out of the oven. "Now eat some of this and like it or I'll kill ya."

.............................

_Slurp. _

Jack looked up from his sandwich and smiled as Audrey sucked on her straw once more, cleaning the remnants of the bottom of the glass with much noise and ado. Jack laughed and looked back to his food with a slight shake of his head. "What?" she asked, chewing on the end of the red striped straw and raising her eyebrows challengingly.

"Nothing," said Jack. The two were sharing a booth, sitting opposite each other upon faux red leather seats in a small pub in the village that they had arrived at while it was fortunately still serving food. Audrey had just finished a shift of school and another of work when Jack dropped by the café, claiming that Ray had informed him of where she was.

_Audrey turned around with two full glasses of iced tea in her hands and started in shock. She'd admit that she was more than a bit startled to see Jack standing there, leaning on the counter with his chin resting in his hands. "Um, hello," she said tenatively._

"_Don't worry, I'm not following you," he said with an easy tone in his voice. "I called the apartment and Ray answered. She told me you'd be here. And so, here I am." He bowed in a dramatic, sweeping gesture, which produced an amused and baffled snort out of Audrey. "Actually, m'lady, I came here to ask you a question."_

"_And what would that be, my lord?" she replied, playing along in the same false air of chivalrous, yet horridly outdated formality._

"_I came ye hence to ask of thee....wouldeth thou liketh to "hang out" with myself on this bright, merry day?"_

"_Well," Audrey said, placing the glasses down and raising her chin into the air in a stuffy manner. "That depends, good sir." When Jack did not answer, she continued, "I supposed you'd like to know upon what it depends? Yes? Well, I shall inform you. Tell me, noble knight, will there or won't there be food?"_

Audrey grabbed a fry and smothered it in a bright red puddle of ketchup. Jack watched her and momentarily smiled in amusement at the blue paint still staining her hand. She munched on it thoughtfully for a moment while she examined his expression. "That's not a 'nothing' face," Audrey insisted, a hint of jest glinting in her eye. "Come on...tell me, Jack. Come on..." she coaxed, leaning over the table, trying to lower her face into his downcast line of sight. "Come on..."

"Really, it's nothing," Jack explained with a short laugh, "I swear." He looked up at her and with an earnest expression upon his face, tried his best to convince her that there was nothing wrong with him. But that questioning, probing look on her face and the way she kept inching her face closer toward his inspection finally made him break down. "Alright!" he said, laughing incredulously, "It's just that I..." He shook his head and pressed his lips together.

"What? What? What?" she begged, smiling even wider.

"What it is....is that I just don't see....how you could possibly pay five dollars for a milkshake. I cannot believe you are gulping down a five dollar milkshake with such unaffected ease." He threw his hands up, ran one through his hair and then slouched down in his seat. His head rested on the faux red leather, he gave her a "so there you have it" tilt of the head and looked out from under his partially closed eyelids.

"Well, I like to live dangerously," she replied. "Besides, I like malts, Jack. What can I say? I'm paying for it anyway, so if I want to indulge myself in a horribly impractical way, that's my own worry." She lazily drew stirred circles in the chocolate malt with her straw, elbows resting on the table. With her head still slightly tilted downward, she suddenly looked up at Jack with eyes that looked the size of new moons and flashed him a coy smile. He felt the warm fuzzy feeling creep up in his chest. Jack reached for her hand and enclosed her small fingers within his, running his thumb over her knuckles. Audrey looked a bit surprised at the gesture and at first grip, she pulled back slightly. However, she eased up a bit, and brushing the hair out of her eyes, gave him a small shy laugh that could have been interpreted as nervousness had she not put off such a confident air. Without being able to stop, he found himself leaning over the table, bringing his face closer and closer to hers.

"Hiya, Jack!" said an eager voice.

Jack closed his eyes and attempted to contain the hot anger that began to gnaw at his insides. He plastered a smile on his face before turning to see who the cruel interrupter was. "Heya, Race," Jack said through his teeth, hoping his friend would not notice.

Race nodded toward Jack and chewed on the cigar in his mouth. Spotting a glimpse of half of Audrey's face, Race removed the cigar and peered around Jack to look upon her fully. "Well, well," he said, "What have we got here?" His grin grew larger, and he raised his eyebrows twice in jest and winked at Jack.

Jack said nothing in return, perhaps a little too bitter at the interruption to freely give Race information. "I'm Audrey," she volunteered.

"Oh, Audrey..." Race repeated and Audrey nodded in affirmation. "Hmm.." he continued, "Well, Audrey, where're ya from?"

"Sussex."

Race's face lit up. "Oh! New Jersey?"

Jack's mouth dropped slightly and he looked at Race incredulously. Audrey managed not to laugh at Race's folly. The only gesture she let escape was a small odd smile that seemed more curious than criticizing. "No," she replied, even toned and gently, "Southern England."

At that moment, Jack could help himself no longer. He let out a laugh and shook his head. "Race!" he said and threw up his hands in a "I can't believe you'd say that" gesture.

To this Race only shrugged. "Well," he added in his defense, "They talk funny in Jersey." He took another puff from his cigar. "So, um, Jack are we still up for poker?"

Jack leaned back and a confident look that bordered on cool arrogance overtook his expression. "You sure you wanna play me again? I mean, after what happened last time....Ha. I'll stop. Sure, okay Race. Tomorrow night?"

Race nodded. "Seven thirty. And glad you're gonna be there Jack. It's no fun without you. Besides, you're the only one the others listen to when they get a little angry over their bad hands or rather 'unfortunate' loss of money." With another grin, and a nod of his head toward Audrey, he simply uttered a "Pleasure meeting you" in parting and left their company.

After he had gone, Jack turned to Audrey and heaved a deep sigh. He ran a hand through his hair and rested his chin in his hand. "I feel like I'm back in high school," he told her.

"Why ever do you feel that?" she asked, flashing him the same curious smile she had given Race.

Jack smiled in return. "Aw, don't worry about it."

"That was quite a compliment your friend gave you. 'You're the only one the others listen to' and such. So, you're the fearless leader type, are you? You keep the peace and take care of your underlings?" she mused.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"And I imagine you're a good poker player also?" Audrey continued.

"I guess you could say that too. Hell, it's mainly how I pay my bills and rent...aside from other things...but let's not, um, talk about that. Would you like me to teach you sometime?

"No. That's quite alright," she answered and returned her attention to her five dollar milkshake, probing it with her straw once more. Up and down. Up and down. After every few beats, she added a circular swirl for flourish.

Jack felt uncomfortable in the mounting silence, embarrassment building up about what he had earlier put down as a definite faux pas. He pulled at his collar in discomfort and tried to find something to talk about to break the tension and perhaps distract her from his blunder. "Uhh..." he said, and Audrey looked up awaiting, his next words. "So, um," he continued, looking down at his half eaten burger. "What's you favourite American import?" Audrey looked amused at the question and Jack shrugged as though to apologize for that being all that came out.

Without more than a half moment's hesitation, she answered decidedly, "Coca Cola."

..................................

"I'm serious," Audrey said with a laugh, "In the great history of art, all we painters ever do is die. Die, die, die....and go insane, but mostly die. Tragic deaths – disorders, diseases, mental instability. Michelangelo was manic depressive. Frida Kahlo had spina bifida. Goya died - lead poisoning from his paints. And Mark Rothko committed suicide. The entire fin de siecle Paris movement absinthe-d themselves to death, and if the drink didn't get them, tuberculosis did. The funny thing is we're somewhat happy to do it. I mean, as long as we put something beautiful in the world, we're content to die, die, die." Audrey, Nicole, and Lute were lazily strolling down West Fourth Street, window shopping and wasting away a precious and rare afternoon of free time. In truth, they were doing more talking than shopping. Audrey sipped on coffee, sugared and creamed to caramel brown: the only way she could stand it. She was feeling stressed and a bit overwhelmed. She only drank coffee when she was feeling this way. It was either that or a smoke, and coffee was just healthier. Tea was too familiar and could easily bring to mind the thousands of times she had drank whilst painting or doing something similar. She didn't want to think about painting today, so coffee it was. The difference in its strong taste she could not identify with anything that made her feel a bit edgy. And Audrey liked that. "Art is not for pussies," she added as an afterthought.

"And you think a double major in Applied Physics and Spanish is?" Nicole pointed out with distracted amusement in her voice, her eyes examining a smart black coat in the window of a Ted and Daisy's.

"I never said it wasn't," Audrey said, "But at least you won't go insane from its toxicity, suffer a degenerative illness, and then die at thirty seven."

"I don't know about that," was Nicole's reply, "Physics stress brings on bouts of insanity, and I may very well have a nervous breakdown and kill myself while in that insane state – you never know.'

The three stopped in front of the window to Search and Destroy, and Audrey gave the other two an "I dare you to stop me from going in" grin and breezed through the door with Lute and Nicole following. Over the speaker system was playing a nonmainstream, undoctored sort of tune. Probably the local college station, Audrey decided. She picked up a scarf and wound it around her neck and admired herself in the too-thin mirror on the display case. It looked nice, she thought, and it fit into her three colour wardrobe, which was also nice. It was becoming increasingly harder for something to fit into said three colour wardrobe, especially by being comprised of all three colours at one. Also, it was more than especially hard to find something that looked good on her and displayed her three pre-approved colours. Her fingers fumbled down it, searching for the price tag. She finally felt something rectangular and cardboard, closed her fingers around it, and pulled it toward her line of side. Just as she had managed to get it around in view, a low, sweet gravely voice came over the sound system that make her drop the tag. That made a long, seemingly-forgotten pang in the pit of her stomach re-emerge with a vengeance.

"_Summer gone so slowly. We found the ground and now the damage is done. It's cold here now just as you liked it, but where'd you go?"_

Audrey heard Lute sigh from the next rack over. "Oh, I love this guy," she said," He makes me gush like a little fangirl. Reminds me of Chet Baker, but you know, without the trumpet...With a guitar instead."

"So cold as you face into the wind," the man sung in a sad, wanting, honey dripped voice. "Maybe I'll sleep inside my coat and wait on your step till you come back home. The world's turned so gray violet so fast. But all our words weren't bound to fail."

"He's so tragic," Lute added with a sigh, "I just love brooding boys."

Audrey cleared her throat uncomfortable and placed the scarf back onto the rack. "Hey loves? Can we get out of here?" she asked just as the voice sang out, "See I can tell you never dreamed of a single tragic scene." The other two girls just looked at her questioningly, but did not move a muscle. Audrey fidgeted, weight shifting from foot to foot as she tried to communicate to them silently just how much it pained her to stand there listening to that song. Yet, she had no desire to open her mouth and voice to them exactly how much or why. At that moment, she had never wished more that Raven were there to open her big mouth and order them out. To speak up on her behalf. To silence the two girls that were still giving Audrey loudly resounding, yet noiseless blank stares...their eyes wide with questions unasked.

Lute put the hat in her hand back onto the dummy's head from which it came. "My, my. She's just feeling a little cranky today, isn't she? What's wrong doll, did you stay up all night again binge painting and eating cake?"

Audrey curled her upper lip and sulking and shrugging, stuck her tongue out at Lute.

Nicole, however, was more gracious. She gave Audrey a curious look for one long, pregnant moment and then simply said, "Let's go." She didn't have to ask twice, for Audrey, shot her a grateful smile and headed for the door and was out in under three seconds flat, relieved to close the door and leave the sounds behind her.

...............................

"Hurry up!"

It seemed that the more time Jack spent around Audrey, the more things about her offbeat ways left him pleasantly surprised. That she could carry on walking alone in such a manner as he had known only one other to once do. Boldly striding, her hair flying in the wind behind her and a widening smile gracing her face as she turned around to look over her shoulder at him. He hoped she'd always walk that way – fearlessly. As though she were infinite. Twisting around to look at him, she bit her bottom lip and then curved her lips into a mischievous grin. Her eyes shone as if they held some sort of innocent secret, and she offered him only a small laugh as a response. Without a word, he felt her slyly slip her soft hand into his. He was surprised, and his heart leapt into his throat at the quiet and slight gesture of affection. He dared not utter a word for fear she would retract her offering, but instead closed his long fingers around her small delicate ones and followed behind her as she began to move through the crowd once more. For a few minutes, he held her hand – held it tightly. Then he loosened his grip for one moment and lost her to the crowd.

He found her standing on the cement block that held a light post into the ground. She had her arms wrapped around it and her head slung back. Looking upward. Toward what, he did not know. So he looked up too...and found nothing. Yet he wondered what she saw that was so magnificent to produce an expression of pure tickled pink fancy upon her face. And for that moment, Jack forgot about the scholarship.

He forgot about the lack of rent money or the falling out he'd had with his father two nights prior. He forgot about any crisis involving his future or the stacks of homework that awaited him at home. He forgot his internship was ending and that his Com 404 teacher seemed to have a vendetta against him. He forgot about the world. Jack looked at her breathlessly...broad smile covering her face and stretching her cheeks. Her skin looked strangely translucent in the light...it was as though he could see the blood rushing to her cheeks. Colouring them. Nothing about her was opaque. While he looked on, everything burdening him suddenly released him from its grasp. It all left, and in that one pure halfmoment he was remarkably more light than he had felt in a long time.

Jack watched as she wrapped both arms around the green post and spun around once more. As she swung her body around it, the world disappeared into a dizzying swirl of lights concrete, the sounds of traffic, voices, and footsteps. "Ohhh, I love New York," she breathed taking all of it in with each inhalation, "I really do. I should get myself one of those "I heart NY" t-shirts." Her revolution around the pole ending, she giggled like a carefree seven year old and flashed Jack yet another winning smile.

He gave her ensemble a quick once over and raised his right eyebrow. Fingered her tie with his left hand. "Would you wear it?" he asked.

Her response was a soft chuckle. "No, probably not. I'd have to cut it up. Add a few safety pins...sew on a patch." She laughed again. "Did I ever tell you why I decided to come here, Jack Kelly?" she asked.

Jack shook his head.

"I came here," Audrey explained, "to, as cliché as it sounds – don't laugh- but to find myself. You see, there are two kinds of people in the world: those who can be content with staying home and never wanting for more outside of what was given to them, or those wild sorts who have a desperate desire to venture out into the world and just get lost in all it had to offer. Not one is necessarily better than the other. But I came to realize that I had no idea which I was. I had already tried to be content with my home, so I thought I'd give the other a fair shot."

"And?"

She stopped spinning once more and looked Jack in the eye. Tilting her head to one side, a look of quiet satisfaction came over her face. She sighed. "I like to get lost." Audrey swung herself in again around the pole and on the end of her second revolution, leaned in closed to Jack...he inched toward her...bringing his hand up to cup her face.

When his cell phone rang.

"What is that?" Audrey asked, drawing back swiftly and sounding a bit jarred....and if it weren't Jack's hopeful imagination talking, a bit miffed. Jack had just fished it out of his pocket when Audrey plucked the device from his hand and examined it with a scowl upon her face. "No one talks anymore. We have all these devices for communication – cell phones. Internet. Text messaging, answering services, faxes, telephones, telegrams, smoke signals...bloody PDA's...yet no one actually talks. We just state blather off information. Bark orders, instructions. Times and dates. Yes and No's. Lots of nothings."

Jack wasn't sure what he could say to that, but opened his mouth to respond anyway. However, before he had the chance to let any words flow forth, the sign flashed a bright and blatant "WALK." Audrey released her pole and clasped Jack's wrist in her small hand, leading him across the street at a rushed pace. "We have to cross quickly," she said, "I never have much luck with crossing streets...when cars are involved, at least."

As they blazed across the street with rapid speed, Audrey pulling Jack behind her, he remarked, "You know, I used to think that too...about here – New York, I mean. I used to think that it was everything I ever needed in one place. That it was big enough for me to get lost in, as you say. But now - I dunno. It's just not the same anymore." He shrugged as they stepped onto the sidewalk. "I guess I just started thinkin'. I don't really like it all that much. Too many people. Too much rush. It all gets to be a bit tiring after a while – nothing's ever stable here. It's not a place you can settle into. Everything's always blurred, dizzy, and relentless. The more I think about it, the more I know that I really just wanna get outta here. Go some place different."

She looked up at Jack and frowned. "And where would you go?" she questioned, "There aren't many places that equal New York."

"It isn't all that great. Besides, why should you only take what you're given?" Where does it say you gotta live and die here, anyway?"

"Oh nowhere, I'm sure," Audrey said, plastering a mock stern look on her face. "And about taking what you're given...well, you already know my feelings about goals with reachable ceilings. So, don't take that as me disapproving or taking the side of New York's champion. Because I'm not. I'm simply saying that New York has so much to offer, so many things that are located and centralized here. There aren't many cities in the world like it, and I imagine that living here for as long as you have must make one spoiled for anywhere else. So, I wonder, where a city fellow like yourself deems attractive after living here?"

Jack shot off his answer without a moment's hesitation. "Well, there's this scholarship I'm filling out. For my senior year. I could spend my senior year in Santa Fe. I wanna go to Santa Fe. Everything's different there."

"And how do you know?"

"I was born there."

"Yes, but you weren't even old enough to talk. How could you possibly remember it in any sort of detail?"

"I don't remember it. I just feel it. It's in me," he paused to smile at her, and Audrey noticed a placid, dream-like expression come over his face, "Everything's different there – the people, the air, the sun...." He sniffled and soothed an itch of his nose with a wipe of the back of his hand. Suddenly becoming extremely self-conscious, he emitted a nervous laugh, and then looked down at his companion and smiled. "But maybe I'm talkin' too much..."

"Well," Audrey said with a laugh, "if the light doesn't seem to suit you, how 'bout a change of scene, ey?" She stopped in her tracks and looked skyward, towards a sign mounted on the red brick building in front of her. "We're here," she announced.

Jack looked in the same direction. He felt his body tense in fear. "We're at a gallery? You took me to a gallery?"

"Yes, and it's about to close," she remarked, looking at her invisible watch on her arm, "so you'd better hurry up." She began to dash up the steps, but stopped when she turned to see that Jack had not followed. "Well, come along, already....time is passing us by," she encouraged.

He shook his head and laughed nervously. "You want me to go in there? I ain't goin' in there."

"And why not, may I ask?"

"That art in there...all that stuff. It's, um, kinda scary."

"Art intimidates you?" she asked in an incredulous voice. Never had she come in contact with anyone who'd outright stated that he was intimidated by paintings. It baffled her, but she found it endearing in the strangest, yet most undeniable way. "Come on, now. Jack Kelly's afraid of paintings and sculptures, and ha...linoleum block prints? They're not going to bite you, you know."

"No, it's not that. It's just that some of that stuff – well I don't know nothing about art, and I won't know what to think about any of it. And then you'll ask me what I think of this painting or that linoleum block print, and I won't know what to say. So, I'll stand there and stutter...make myself look like a fool, because you, well, you're probably one of those people who knows everything about art. And you'll think I'm stupid because I don't know anything. So, yeah, that's why I'm scared of art."

The left side of her face could not help forming a slight grin as she descended the steps. Taking his hand in her own, she opened his palm and traced a finger over it. "You don't have to be afraid of art, you know..." She brought her eyes to his face, meeting his gaze. "Now, come on, I've dragged you all the way across the city at a mad crazy manic pace. You don't want to waste all that time and effort by not going in....Besides, it's the artists that are scary, anyway. Not the art." She grabbed his hand tightly, and began to pull him up the steps.

Jack's eyes had widened a bit at her last comment. "So what does that say about you?" he asked. Audrey's only answer was yet another laugh as she opened the door and pushed him inside.

..............................

"So this is it."

Jack opened the door to his apartment and showed Audrey inside. As she walked through the threshold, she was met by emptiness...emptiness and blue. And a scent that registered somewhere between old cigarettes and the stale smell of winter confinement. _Musty._ The entire apartment consisted of one room and was meagerly decorated. The room was chilly, and she shivered a bit. _When was the last time he had run the furnace? Did he even have a furnace? _As she took everything in, she did not notice one. Jack had partitioned off a section with a screen for his bedroom, and a few posters hung on the walls. There was a worn looking blue sofa in the "living room area" which was accompanied by a thirteen-inch television set and a VCR. Books and papers were littered everywhere else. Nothing about it appealed to her or seemed even slightly inviting. What was the word she was looking for?_ Ah, yes...sparse. _

"Sorry it's a bit uh, messy," Jack explained. "I've been so busy that haven't cleaned it in weeks. I would have tidied up a bit, but I wasn't really expectin' company."

_Well, that at least explains the smell. _"Wow," Audrey said with a grin, "Low maintenance décor...I love what you've done with the place."

"Shaddup," Jack playfully retorted, throwing his keys in a bowl on the floor near the door. "Do you know what I had to do to get this place? I mean, not to mention I practically have to sell my soul on the black market to pay for it. In addition to working two jobs."

"No, really," Audrey continued. "But you know, some paint would drastically change it for the better." She walked over the wall and gestured with her hands. "If you painted this a nice bold colour – like red – then the room would really vibrate. And that would set off everything else, and give the entire room a facelift without having to do any intensive manual labor."

"Well, you supply the paint, and I'm there. Otherwise, I'd have to sell myself on the black market to afford it. Not to mention, I'd lose my security deposit." Laughing, he slipped his arm around Audrey's waist and pulled her toward his chest. Placing one hand on the small of her back, he kissed her forehead. She laughed and then looked over her right shoulder. It was then that she spotted a rather curious form covered by a dusty white sheet.

"Hello," she said softly and pulled herself away from Jack's embrace to inspect what laid under the sheet. "What is this?" she asked Jack as she made her way over. When he did not answer immediately, she pulled up one corner of the sheet and through the dust haze that now surrounded her from jarring the piece of fabric and spotted what seemed to be a piano. She yanked the sheet of entirely, and true to her first guess, it was indeed a piano. "You own a piano?" she asked, amused, and Jack nodded his head. "How in the bloody hell did you get a piano up here?"

Jack laughed and ran a hand through his hair. "We, um, carried it. My father, me, a friend or two of mine. There's an old elevator around the back. Not so safe, but we risked it for the piano. You see, if you turned it at an angle just right, it fit." He shrugged.

"Well, it's always right to risk your life for a good thing," Audrey added with a smirk. "Do you play?" was her next question.

"Well...." Jack started hesitantly, "Not anymore. But I mean, I used to. Play. Write songs and shit too."

"You should play."

Jack nodded as though he had heard the same statement a million times. In truth, he had...from his mother...from Sarah....from Spot. Anyone who had known him long enough to know that he had once been obsessed with playing felt it was their God given duty to remind him that he should start playing again. He didn't really know why he had ever stopped in the first place. One day the music simply died to Jack. And he found he couldn't find it, nor get it back no matter how hard he'd tried. Soon enough, he put it down to a lost cause. It became like his dream of living in Santa Fe or finding his birth parents. Dreams always die, he knew. But the world liked to call it growing up.

Jack gazed out of the window as he pondered all of these things over once more. His face held an intent expression. "You know what you should do," he said to Audrey without bothering to look at her.

"What's that?" she asked.

Without a moment's hesitation, he strode over to her, wrapped his arms around her and looked her hard in the eyes while saying, "This." Then his pressed his lips to hers without bothering to ask for permission. When the kiss was broken, he looked to Audrey, who was currently biting her bottom lip and said, "You know, I've been trying to do that for two weeks solid now. No. Since I damned met you...yet you always eluded me. Why'd you make me wait so long? You knew I wanted to. Hell, you even told me that I did. When I didn't, why didn't you just do it yourself? And don't you dare tell me that you didn't want to because I know better."

"Well," she began, "I had to see if you were worthy. Kisses are near sacred. One can't just go around throwing them out everywhere to nancy boys and the like. They're doorways. I wanted to know that you weren't afraid of me, that you would stand up to me before I let you walk through my doorway and found myself entrapped with someone yielding and dull."  
  
"So did I pass?"  
  
"Kiss me again."

"So, ha, I was what...daring? Charming? Cavalier?"

She looked down at the placement of his hand, and then brought her eyes up to meet his. "Well," she remarked, "you're just what I suspected. A boy. You brought me here so that you could take advantage of me. You knew no one would be able to hear my cries for help. You lying bastard, you! Telling me you wanted me to-"

But she had not time to finish her sentence before Jack's mouth was upon hers, tipping her head back and enveloping her lips in a sensuous kiss. "Well," Audrey said, drawing back, "You know you just proved me correct, don't you? Proved for once and for all that you are a-" She was again interrupted by another kiss. And then another. Hasty kisses. Kisses in which Jack was losing his eloquence in a flash of hurried desperation. But neither of them minded.

.............................

Moonlight filtered over the piano and Jack's face as he examined it wistfully. He approached it and lightly touched the keys in hesitation before sitting down on the bench. Still resting on the stand were a few pages of a song he'd begun writing years ago. "Well, this is a start," he scanning the sheets of notes and rests. Instantly becoming re-familiarized with the unfinished piece of music as though he had scrawled the last note of it on the staff yesterday. Holding the music in his left hand, he leaned against the piano and lightly fingered the keys with his right hand. Stroking them lovingly, he added pressure and a soft ping sung out from the keyboard. "This isn't so bad," he thought, giving himself a mental pep talk, "Not so hard going back." He'd not forgotten a thing it seemed. Yes, he was a little rusty and hit a wrong note a time or six...and his fingers didn't stretch as far as they used to. It bothered Jack that he had let himself slip so far and he yearned to regain what he had lost.

"When I dream," he sung softly, more talking than song. The next line was more full voice, yet immediately met with hesitant brainstorming. "On my own.....I'm alone....but I ain't...lonely..." He ambled his way through the music...squeezing his mind's creativity for the finishing lyrics to the long set aside song. The next few bars he stumbled through, fingers searching the keys and hoping with eyes closed to land on the correct notes. He failed to. The beginning was easy enough to convince Jack that he might have not lost everything. Yet, the clumsiness of his hand's playing mixed with the complete inability to come up with the next line further convinced Jack that there was indeed a good reason he'd stopped playing in the first place.

"Enough," he said, and placed the noted sheets firmly on top of the piano. He stood up quickly, pushing the bench back with a loud and pained screech as its legs scraped the floor. Jack reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of beer. He opened it barehanded and took a long swig from it, glaring at the piano all the while. True, he knew very well that it was his own fault and not the piano's, yet he still tried to blame his lack of capabilities on it. Jack stared longer, and the piano seemed to return his angry glower as if to say, "Alright smartass, this is what you get for neglecting me. I'm going to make it as hard for you as I possibly can, and we'll see who owes whom an apology." He twisted his mouth into a scowl and shook his head, breaking gaze with the piano. "Pianos are such women," he thought and stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

_**Disclaimer: Raven belongs to herself, and Nicole to Run. To Disney what is Disney's...that means all things Newsies, and the lines I borrowed. EE Cummings' stuff belongs to him. It's quite good. I suggest reading anything he's written. Michael Crespo is a real person and my painting professor. Excellent artist. Look him up on the web. And Theresa Mooney is indeed a real counselor.**_

Dreamer: Audrey is a quick one with words. Yet, she's also a victim of "foot in mouth" syndrome. There should be some sort of support group for that which we could send her to. But I love her anyways. hugs Audrey

Raeghann: My loverly faithful review who always tells me the truth...yes, the last one was fluff. Purely fluff. And this one will certainly have meat...lots of issues to be discussed in later chapters. (Should I ever get to them. Sigh.) Anyway, peppermint tea and chocolate cake to you from Audrey for reviewing.

LadyRach: Jack is endearing, no? I have to try my hardest not to fall for him...and I wrote him this way. I'm so pathetic with my love affairs with fictional characters. Really need to see about getting past that.

Run: Runny, Run, Run....You made another appearance! I love your character – she's such a calm, sensible influence. The rest of them are kind of...well...scribbles, and Nicole's a line. One needs a line in one's life, I say.


	4. pretty the world

A/N: This chapter courtesy of my Rush soundtrack (yes, there is such a thing) and my lack of internet at home for a good part of October. Less fluffy...finally getting to the meat of the story.

* * *

Chapter Four. pretty the world

_breakaway like all  
the others; __in pristine glow  
soon to come crashing_

_lose yourself_

"New York City, or rather Manhattan at least, exists in a purely transitory state. In the roughly twelve miles or so that make up its length, you can pass through the greatest financial centers, the greatest areas of commerce (here I use the term "great" somewhat loosely), fabulous high-rise apartment buildings . . . as well as the accumulation of humanity, those too rich and powerful to understand anything. Further along come the poorer areas, populated by people struggling to survive. Cross a street from one subsection to another--literally, crossing a street is the only border--and the world changes. The ebb and flow is unending.

In the short time that I have lived here, I've discovered that a place like this cannot build any true identity. Perhaps that's my opinion as a complete outsider. Many people who were born and raised her here would most probably disagree. New York City cannot build itself an identity, and that's not necessarily a bad thing . . . but I think I've discovered why I feel at home here. Though, a place of such change can never really exist. I have found a place that is a kindred spirit."

Audrey's letters to Kit were always elaborate and she wrote them more like one would write a novel instead of a simple letter. She and Kit kept up an active correspondence. He'd write pages to her about the weather, their father, "such and such says hello" 's, musings about Tony Blair, and life in general, and Audrey would reply with dissertations concerning city life, the differences between American and English lifestyle. The concepts and techniques she was exploring in her paintings. Philosophies and social commentaries. She insisted upon letters over the impersonal email. Handwriting was everything to her...it was like painting with verbiage and ink.

_It used to be that anything literary was provoked feelings of mad passionate love from Audrey Nellwyn. In the passing years, writing had become merely a misplaced childhood dream. When she was young, from the tender age of seven all throughout her early teenage years, she'd digest a book a week. She'd borrow everything she could get her hands on from the library, and then pour over them while locked away in her room. Now, it seemed she hadn't the time or the energy to do such again, yet she missed it so. Missed losing herself in a fictional world...becoming someone else for three hundred odd pages. _

_At one time, wide eyed Audrey even entertained dreams of becoming a writer. Many a book did she start – big scrawling handwriting over countless initial pages of various notebooks. Yet she never seemed to get past a plot outline, a cast of characters, and four pages of any textual body. Ideas she had...a way of getting them from her head through her hand to the paper, she had a bit of trouble with. It was though there was built a brick wall somewhere between her mind and her left elbow that prevented her from writing much of anything down. Art, or painting in particular, soon took the place of her literature and writing obsessions. Somehow, painting was simpler to for her to grasp – the visual language required less effort and difficulty for Audrey to communicate with, though she never knew why. The bridge from an unfinished painting to a finished one was less difficult to build than the one from one written passage to another nonrelating. Though she was now completely devoted to her painting, writing was still her first love – and it refused with vengeance to die as all first loves refuse to let their flame be stifled. _

Audrey held the paper away from her and skimmed over the written lines. Chewing on the back of her pen, she surveyed her work. Good grammar. Easily read stylistically. Complete, coherent ideas. Yet, she was not quite satisfied with it. After a moment's thought, she brought the nib of her pen to the paper once more and scratched in a postscript.

"PS," it read, "It is raining outside and everything is disappearing into one wet lovely fog, just the way that I like. I miss home: the way it looks and smells. The way it feels to sleep in my bed and the light in my room at dusk and twilight. But please do not worry about me the way I am absolutely certain that you are. Everything is fine, I promise. I'm doing very well here. I believe New York suits me in some odd way that I cannot explain and shall not bother trying. Please tell Da and Livvy that I send my love and hope all of you doing swimmingly. Perhaps some photographs in the following letter."

She closed it with the signing of her first initial and folded it into thirds. Dropped it into an envelope and sealed it before she had the chance to proof it once more and change or over-think anything. Audrey tucked it into the cover of her sketchbook, where it would wait for a stamp she didn't yet have.

In the bathroom, she turned on the faucet and filled a glass with water. Reaching inside the medicine cabinet, Audrey produced a pill bottle. She shook one of the small pink tablets into her palm and then put it onto her tongue. It was bitter and quickly dissolving in her mouth. She tilted back her head and finished off the glass, the water streaming down her throat carrying the distasteful medicine with it. Audrey wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. When back inside of her space, she plucked a red marker from the desk and stood in front of October, with more than half of its days crossed off. Uncapping the marker, Audrey drew a decisive red line through the box marked twenty six and wondered how such a number of days had escaped without her noticing.

ollllllllllllllllo

_Rain. _

Jack had been waiting underneath the covered awning in front of the theatre for nearly twenty minutes. He was early, of course. It was his habit to be so. Even though it was overcrowded and hectic-ness seeped from the sidewalks, one great thing about New York City was that you could find anything you desired there – if you looked hard enough. Jack, with all of his disdain for the city, could not fault it for that. The Oculus was nearly sixty years old and still had a curtain that was drawn across the screen when not in use. Movie theatres seemed not to exist anymore. Jack was overjoyed when he one day took a wrong turn and stumbled upon it. There were no cup-holders in the seats, and the chairs did not recline. No. It was simple and unaltered in a world full of convenience and economy-sized nothings. Jack shivered as a sharp wind carrying raindrops crashed into him. The rain reminded him of the piano...just as everything reminded him of piano and the fact that he could no longer play it. Jamming his hands in his pocket, he sighed with resignation and tried to push the unhappy thought to the very back of his mind. (He didn't bother trying to put it out of his head, for he knew that was a definite impossibility.) Already irritable and fatigued from an overloaded school and work schedule, he wanted to just stand still as he waited. Stand still, turn his mind to its "off" setting and zone out until he became unconscious of time and how quickly it was passing him by. Jack squinted and peered out onto the rain covered world, letting everything blur into a gray haze.

"Jack? Is that you?"

The music ceased. Jack rotated his stance to see to a pretty girl with glasses looking at him expectantly with a smile plastered across her face that was all too happy. "Emily," he said with recognition. He gave her a quick once over. Light brown hair, wavy. Short. Freckles. Genuine smart look about her that was only completed with the blue cat rimmed glasses that she still wore. No. She had not changed one bit.

"Yes," she answered her voice lilting with genuine cheeriness, happy that he had still remembered her. "So, what are you doing here?"

"I'm going to see a movie, of course," was the first thought that entered his mind. But Jack, being the gentleman that his mother had tried so hard to raise him to be, held his tongue and mumbled something polite about meeting someone for a movie.

_Emily Brockford. Just another girl in that long string of nobodies after Sarah that Jack had used to fill up his free time. Days he had spent stupid. Days wasted. These girls had tried to show him the slice in the gray clouds that had invaded his life – the hole where the sun came in. But Jack would fight against them – doing nothing but trying to prove to them that it was the same hole into which the rain also entered. In those days, he was nearly covered by a flock of lovers. Lovers who recited poetry and quotations, and tried to be his everything in the course of a week. They were all hopelessly convinced that their bodies could save his. Jack thought that same about each at first. Every time a new one came into his life, there was one brief second (even sometimes a whole moment) when he felt that glimmer of hope that sang to him songs about how this girl could be what he was waiting for. But the song was never true, and Jack walked away from each of them with the same sense of disappointment. _

Over Emily's left shoulder, Jack could just barely make out the welcome sight appearing around the corner. A figure in black walking briskly and holding a bright red umbrella. One bright red umbrella amidst scores of black, green, and navy blue ones. The holder of the umbrella wore striped tights and galoshes. The piano music began again hesitantly, this time accompanied by a violin scarcely breathing – the melody created was fragile, wavering, and shakily beautiful. "Well, Jack, I'm going in now. It was nice seeing you," Emily offered in parting. But Jack heard not a word.

Audrey came nearer and examined Jack's sullen expression as she approached. "Hey," she said, "Glum and dumb, what's the matter with you?"

"Nothing," Jack mumbled.

She peered around Jack to the kitten-ish girl he had been speaking to minutes earlier. "Cute little thing," Audrey mused, "Are you going to run away with her?" When Jack's only response was a taken aback "Huh?" and an incredulous look, Audrey quickly regretted her words. Horrible at apologies, she bit her bottom lip and opted offer Jack the closest thing to one she could muster. "Oh, calm down," she said, "It was just a little joke. There's not need to get all flustered. I won't ask about her."

"No, it's just...." Jack began, but ended his thought with, "Oh nevermind. I'm just in a foul mood. It's been raining for days. I'm tired of the rain." He gave Audrey a weak half smile to make up for his sour attitude. "Shall we go in?" She nodded. Jack reached out to take her hand, but quickly retracted it. His brow furrowing, a perplexed look came over his face. He patted his coat, and then checked his jean pockets. Obviously not finding what he sought, Jack groaned, and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "Just great," he mumbled, "Just fucking fabulous." After another groan and more expletives muttered, he responded to Audrey's questioning look. "Seems I've forgotten my wallet. Don't know why I'm surprised thought. I've fucking forgotten everything lately, it seems. Forgotten it or left it somewhere. I'm a damn idiot. I don't know what we're gonna do."

A moment of silence passed between the two. Then, almost as if he had spoken it into existence by his earlier remark of complaint about the surplus of bad weather, the rain began to slack. It lessened until it had slowed down to a mere misting trickle. The sun peaked out from the gray clouds blanketing it. Audrey held her hand out, palm up, and felt no water upon it. She beamed and closed her umbrella. Giving it two decisive shakes to get most of the water off, she drove the tip to the sidewalk and leaned on it as though it were a cane. "Well, you're in luck," she said, "It's a beautiful new day. Not only is the sun is out, but today was also payday. Come on." Audrey took Jack's hand and begin to pull him inside.

He stopped her, digging his heels into the ground and dropping her hand. "Audrey, I can't let you do that. It's not right, we'll just go to the ATM or something. I can't let-"

"Shut it, Jack," Audrey interrupted, immediately silencing Jack. "I won't hear it. I don't care what you can and cannot do. I want to. Therefore, I am. Now, I am going into that theatre to see a movie that is starting in about two minutes. I'd like you to come with me, but I cannot make you. So if you want to stand out here and evaluate your code of gentlemanly conduct, by all means do. But I'll be inside." With that, Audrey pushed her way through the door and slipped inside, wondering where she had suddenly got such Raven-like nerve. Two seconds later, Jack was at her side. She shot him a knowing smirk and opened her mouth to rattle off something sarcastic...something typically Audrey, but Jack stopped her with a simple shrug of his shoulders. And that was all she needed.

ollllllllllllo

When winter comes, it doesn't ask. It just walks in where it left you last. The months change – October puts on a coat and scarf and becomes more November-ish with each passing day. One never knows when it winter truly starts until suddenly there's a fire inside the glass that held his summer heart. It was the same way with love. Or in the case of Jack Kelly, deep infatuation. Jack lay sprawled on the old, beat up sofa. With one arm cradling his head and the other being used to punctuate his words, he stared at the ceiling with a dreamy, dumbfounded look in his eyes and a matching tone in his voice. "The things I know about her add up to...well....pretty much nothing. Yet I am absolutely enamoured with her."

"Just think Jacky-boy," Spot answered with a smirk, "if this were a movie, right about now that sentimental violin music would be softly filtering around you." Jack grimaced and reached into a bowl behind the couch. Without a word, he lobbed an apple aimed straight for Spot's head. Spot quickly dodged the flying fruit and caught it in his left hand. "Watch it man," he said, looking at the apple, "Better be careful there. You can't go tossing around perfectly good food like that. God knows there ain't much of it in this place...this little beauty was supposed to last you a week."

"Oh yeah?" countered Jack, "I've got another one with your name on it." He held a second up so that Spot could see and scrutinized it as though it were reading its skin. "Look, right here, it says Aiden." Jack drew out the word "Aiden" as though he were savoring each prolonged syllable, knowing somehow the exactly way it would utterly torture his friend's ears.

The desired effect was achieved. Spot cringed and the smirk faded from his face. "Alright, alright," he said, "Have it your way. We'll be serious and won't have any of that shitty thing called fun. Who wants that anyway?" Spot straightened the collar on his shirt and cleared his throat. "So about this girl, I mean – are you sure about all of this Jack? You've always got this way of romanticizing everything. Looking for the "ultimate relationship" and all."

Jack played catch with the apple and his other hand as he spoke to Spot. "This isn't like that. I mean, it is....it could be, you know 'ultimate' or whatever you called it. But it's different than all of those others. Even with Sarah at the very beginning it was never like this."

"You say that about all of them, Jack," Spot reminded him.

"No, I don't," Jack insisted, deep in thought and holding the apple now instead of tossing it into the air. I say they're not like Sarah. (Because, let's face it – nothing is.) But I don't say they're all good in that way. This girl's different."

"Are you certain it's not just because she's a little novelty item to you – because she's foreign and talks with that pretty little accent of hers and is a bohemian painter instead of a business major with a five year plan and a stick up her ass?"

"While all of that does help," Jack answered with a grin, "It's not the basis of my argument."

olllllllllllo

"What's wrong, kiddo?"

Ray gave her friend, who sat on the kitchen counters crossed legged with shoulders slumped and chin resting heavily upon one fist, a questioning once over, complete with tilted head and raised eyebrows. She was in heels and towered over the other girl as she usually did. Audrey had heard Raven approaching long before she ever reached her. For the rest of her life, Audrey was certain that she would associate any sort of noise that sounded like heels clicking across a wooden floor with her best friend." Ray, I forgot how short you are," she remarked, "You wear six inch heels all the time, I forget that I'm actually an inch taller than you."

Ray looked down at her feet and then kicked off her heels and used hoisted herself onto the counter across from Audrey with one graceful movement. "They're not six inches. Four maybe, but not six. And they're platform, not completely stiletto, so there. So, how's it going with Jack?" asked Ray after her defense of her shoes.

"How's it going with the evil known as Spot Conlon?" Audrey countered.

"Well, I asked you first, you question evader. But, just for the record, it's fucking great if I do say so myself," Raven grinned in self satisfaction and leaned back to rest her head against the cabinets. She then posed the same question, "As I asked before, how's it going with Jack, Audrey dearest?"

"I don't know." Audrey paused for a second before hesitantly adding, "I have this dreadful feeling that he's soon going to bludgeon me with the 'I've never felt this way about anyone before' line." Turning to Ray with bewilderment in her eyes, she asked, "Ray, why am I the 'never felt this way before' girl. What in me inspires every boy that's stuck around for longer than two weeks to say that to me? They couldn't possibly all feel it. If they did, maybe I'd still be with one of them." She sighed and cradled her head in her hands.

"Audrey, I don't know what your problem is," Raven said and unwrapped a Hershey's kiss from the bowl on the counter beside her. Popping it into her mouth, she continued. "I mean, I'd kill to have a guy say that to me. I'd absolutely die." She laughed a little snorting laugh and added, "Ha. I'd literally die, I think. Out of shock. Trust me dear, this is not a problem."

"But you don't understand Ray," she explained, "I don't want to be _that_ girl. I never have. They all think that I'm going to complete them or make them feel more alive. Ad I'm not. I'm so not. For once, I'd like to not be the 'ideal' and just have whatever boy I'm with see me as me....flawed and very perfectly fucked up. They act so disappointed whenever I commit that first little mess up - Whenever they realize that I might be human instead of some sort of concept. Then they try to cover it up....pretend like it didn't happen. It just puts them in an entire state of denial for the rest of whatever part of the relationship might be next."

Ray unwrapped another Hershey's kiss. "Calm down, will you?" she said, "You freak. You get so worked up over something that hasn't happened or even showed the slightest signs of happening." She munched on the candy thoughtfully, and then added, "If you think there's a problem, I think you need to tell him. Talk to him...there's a concept for you – communication instead of royal worry fit. But you know, I don't think this mood of yours is all due to poor Jack. There's more to it. It's about your paintings too. It's always about your paintings. Anything else, I think you can handle just fine, as long as you're painting well. The minute that goes downhill, you start to think that your world, no matter how glorious it is at the moment, is crashing down around you. My suggestion to you on a whole is to just mellow out and have some chocolate." She grabbed another tin-foiled candy and tossed it across the kitchen.

Audrey caught it, but instead of immediately eating it or even unwrapping it, she held it in her hands. "Did I mention that I have this amazing power to also make every boy that comes in contact with me cry?"

"Well, now that could be a problem," Ray said, her words muddle by the mouthful of chocolate. She swallowed and then continued, "But you've got to admit to me Audrey that you do love that feeling of elation. The tingling in your toes. The way your heart races every time you see him. The way you never know what he is going to do next or how he is going to do it. Mmmm...you can't tell me that you don't love that."

"I do."

olllllllllllo

"I feel so lightheaded whenever I'm around her. As though I could do anything. Like she does....she just does anything and doesn't think about it."

"She's not going to save the world, you know," Spot informed his friend.

"Yes, but she may save my world. It's just such a...such a.." Jack fumbled around, searching for the right words.

"Such a?" Spot lead.

"Such a rush," he concluded.

"Well, good luck to you in this, Jack," Spot said rising from his seat. "I've got a hot date and she gets awfully testy if I'm late." Jack stood with his friend and held out his hand, which Spot took and shook. "I'll see ya around, Jack. Maybe you can come over to my place to have a few beers or something soon. It's uh...." Spot looked around the room as he reached for a word to describe his intentions, while also not offending his best friend. "Bigger," he finished.

Jack surveyed his apartment. He'd been lucky: knew a friend that knew a friend that knew yet another friend. 55th and 10th, in Hell's Kitchen, and a deal was what Jack was told. And it was deal, location and rent wise - that it fucking was. Damn it. He had practically sold his soul to pay for it, yet it was still just a damp hell hole with a messy paint job, a cracked bathtub, and uneven cabinet pulls. He should be happy that his cabinets still had pulls. "Yeah, Spot," Jack responded, "I'll call you or you'll call me or somethin', I'm sure." With a smile and a nod, Spot straightened the gray cap on his head and was out the door and on his way.

After Spot had gone, Jack's thoughts were immediately slammed back to all of the things he had to do and the fact that none of them were near accomplished. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath and ran his hands through his hair. Jack stood in the middle of the room, in deep thought and motionless except for the slight movement of his right hand scratching the back of his neck. He was mentally compiling a list of everything he had to somehow get done. Jack then walked swiftly to the table and scrawled a physical list of his obligations in order of priority and due date so that he would not forget anything. Afterward, he examined it – the list was long and everything on it seemed incredibly pressing. He collapsed into the comforting arms of the nearby sofa, letting his weight sink into its cushions. "Just think," he reminded himself, "In a semester and a half you'll be done with all of this school shit...and better yet, in half of a semester, you could be in Santa Fe."

ollllllllllllllo

Jack sat on Audrey's bed, trying desperately to ignore the growing irritating itch that plagued his nose. "Do not move or else," Audrey had threatened. She sat a few feet away from him in her desk chair, her feet propped on the bed and a sketch pad resting in her lap. It was five o'clock on a Saturday afternoon. The daylight would be gone soon and the waxing twilight was busy filling the room with a bluish light.

_A month had gone by. A month of touching feet under the table at Chinese restaurants, sharing large popcorns at late movies and brushing knuckles while going in for another handful, and deliberate handholding over coffee at a sidewalk café. It was all very sweet. Sweet and inexplicable. Soft and absolute. The month was recorded in Audrey's mind as beautifully lit pictures and in Jack's as piano scores. Neither needed or could find words to describe it. _

"What are we listening to?" Jack asked.

"Ah! You moved your head," Audrey shrieked, looking from around the pad of paper resting on her knees, "I told you that you have to be perfectly still."

"Oh, sorry," Jack mumbled. He began again, careful to move only his mouth as he repeated slowly, "So...what...are....we...listening...to?"

"British Sea Power," Audrey replied distractedly.

"British Sea Power? That's an odd name for a band," Jack mused.

Audrey shrugged, still engrossed in her drawing. "They're from my hometown. But sadly, they're only a little British band from Sussex that basically no one has ever heard of. In fact, my music collection is probably mostly comprised of little British bands no one has ever heard of." She laughed. Her pencil hastily scratched over the paper. Jack listened to it as he tried to remain still. Scratch. Scratch. A smudge of her hand across the page. Jack watched as Audrey brushed the hair off of her face and simultaneously smeared dark gray graphite across her forehead. She grabbed for the mug beside her that was filled with her usual peppermint tea and took a sip before she noticed Jack trying unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh. Her left eyebrow she raised and asked, "What?"

"You have a huge smudge of pencil over your right eyebrow," he responded.

"Do I?" she asked, rubbing at her forehead with her clean hand. "Ah, well...when you've got a smudge on your face from drawing a portrait that you knew you couldn't, take another drink." And with that, she raised her mug to Jack as though to toast him and took a gulp from it,.

"You read Chuck?" Jack asked with a hint of apparent surprise and recognition in his lilting voice.

"Chuck?" Audrey asked, "Are you and he on a first name basis?" Jack laughed in return. "Well, yes, I have read Chuck. Don't act so surprised. Diary is a great book – a great book about the nature of art and painters in general. Of course I read it. Why wouldn't I?"

"Which part is your favourite?" asked Jack, eager and excited to finally have someone with which to discuss his novelistic idol.

"Well..."Audrey began, "I love any part where he delves into the fact that to paint, one cannot just paint anymore. How artists have to use their own blood or drink paint and vomit it back up....stuff a teddy bear with dog shit or jerk off into a goldfish bowl to make "modern art." That's so true, yet so sickening that it is true. Your Chuck has definitely done his research."

"I love the part where he's discussing all of the ailments artists go through...how they have to be sick to create."

"Well," Audrey said, "That seems to hold an awful lot of truth."

"What's your sickness?" Jack asked. Audrey simply looked up and smiled at him coyly, choosing, wisely, to maintain her right to silence. "Ta da!" Audrey turned the pad of paper around. On it was Jack's likeness, or rather a somewhat abstracted, nervous looking likeness of Jack with dark smudges and angst ridden lines.

"It's um," Jack said.

Audrey studied it and twisted her mouth in scrutiny. "Yeah, exactly," She sighed. "The art and I haven't been communicating effectively lately." The phone chose that time to ring, its chirping permeating the tranquility of the room and causing to Jack to jerk in surprise. "Whaaaat?" Audrey yelled in annoyance. She allowed the phone to ring three times in hopes that somehow Raven would be there, and if she was, she would do something quite out of character by answering the phone. On the fourth ring, Audrey gave up. Groaning, she dragged herself to a stance and plodded across the room to the phone. "Hello?" she said into the receiver. Jack watched as her face changed from comic, outspoken annoyance to placid familiarity as she said, "Hi Kit."

Audrey turned her back to Jack and cradled the phone very close to her mouth as though she were trying to shield it from some threatening outside force. She spoke in hushed tones that Jack could barely make out. He remained seated on the bed on the other side of the room, straining to hear what she was saying to this "Kit" while trying overly hard to pretend that he wasn't listening. Jack could only make out a few words, and when put together, he figured that they basically amounted to her telling the other person on the line that she was fine and the weather was cold. He thought he'd heard the word medicine, but it was so distorted and low that he was almost positive he didn't. What Jack really wanted to find out, he couldn't hear. It was extremely intriguing to him how Audrey seemed to know that he was, indeed, struggling to listen, and she therefore, accordingly lowered her voice to an unintelligible volume whenever she started in on something she did not wish Jack to hear.

Suddenly feeling convicted by his moral code for eavesdropping, Jack decided to busy himself with something else whilst she was on the phone so he wouldn't be tempted to listen. He stared out of the window and let his mind wander and became so lost in his pleasant little daydream about living, working, and going to school in Santa Fe that he did not hear Audrey hang up the phone. All he heard was the music change from modern guitars to a low, mellow seductive voice starting in on "My Funny Valentine."

"That was my brother," Audrey said as she approached. "Kit likes to call. He likes to call all the time. I tell him that he's lucky I love him so because otherwise, I would not be so tolerant of his constant checking up on me." She picked up the sketchpad and examined her work. Obviously dissatisfied with it, she grimaced and tossed it onto the floor amidst a pile of other art related paraphernalia. Flopping down on the bed with all of her heavy self-disappointment , she held her mug and fingered its rim. "I should have spiked it," she told Jack in a resigned voice. "Painting and drawing comes easier to me these days if I'm intoxicated. I don't know what I was thinking going at it straight-faced. I know better." Jack slid over until he was close enough to have his thigh up against hers. he slid an arm around her waist and kissed her temple. "I should just burn it all down and start over, I think," Audrey lamented, "The paintings and such, I mean. Just take a lighter to it and watch it all go away in a fucking beautiful orange glow. Then I could start over new."

"Audrey. Baby, stop it. You don't mean that. I know that's not what you want to do," Jack told her, trying to comfort her in the best way he knew how. With his arm still looped around her, he squeezed tighter. "You wouldn't let me get this sulky on you about school or that damned piano. What would tell me?" Jack cleared his throat, and ii his best high-pitched fake English accent said, "Come on now, don't be bloody stupid. You are fabulous, and you know it full well. If you'd just stop all that foolish nonsense nay-saying, you could do a bang up job of it. I know it."

"Ah, to hell with you," Audrey said, annoyed, and playfully pushed Jack. She crossed her arms over her chest with mock indignation. "I wouldn't say it like that at all. You are the biggest dork I know Jack Kelly."

"Is that so?" Jack asked and leaned over to kiss the side of her neck. When she didn't answer, Jack pulled back the collar of her shirt and slowly dragged his bottom lip across the nape of her neck. In response, Audrey laughed. A light high pitched laugh that could have nearly been described as a girlish giggle of sorts. With a small coaxing pull from Jack, she allowed herself to be lead backwards, and both reverted to a reclining position. He propped himself up on his elbows so that he was atop her, over her with one of his legs inserted between hers. His hair brushed lightly across her cheek and Audrey began to feel a bit unsteady. Her face flushed and started to burn, the colours in the room blurring as Jack's mouth grazed her collarbone and worked its way to her earlobe. The room was becoming ever darker as twilight gave way to night's stronger, eclipsing pull. The lamps on the street below came on and cast odd, eerie golden shadows on the wall betwixt the blue light of the waning evening's faint presence.

Without a clear reason why, she began to laugh uncontrollably - out of euphoria and perhaps a bit of nervousness. She was giddy, stupidly giddy. Her head was clouded, and she couldn't think of a better thing to do than laugh. Audrey stopped when Jack raised his head and stared into her eyes intently, running his thumb over her bottom lip. One more slight, breathy laugh escaped her mouth as she matched his stare. Then he kissed her – kissed her gently, sweetly and moved his hand up her sleeve and over her bare shoulder. His hand moved to her hair, toying with the end of a lock and then twisting it around his finger. Audrey took a deep breath in...Jack smelled of soap and smoke - soap, smoke and leather. She breathed him in once more and felt his hand move down her arm and trace the curve of her side. Then her hip. Thigh. Inner thigh. Suddenly the beautiful hazy colours swimming before her eyes darkened and muddied to black. Her skin prickled, and her body tensed and recoiled as something within her protested loudly. Wait, Jack," she said, almost breathless from the laughter, the nearness of him, and the sudden revolt against the turn of events. But he didn't hear. "Wait" she said more loudly and sternly.

Jack immediately halted his progress and removed his hand from between her legs. He sat up and furrowed his brow. "What, what?" he asked, "Did I do something wrong?"

"Do you love me, Jack?" Audrey asked with ease that she would have used to ask him the time or the weather.

All Jack could offer in return was shocked, choked stuttering. He spit out a bunch of syllables and alliterations that sounded nothing like the English language, but Audrey understood perfectly. "That's what I thought," said said, clearing her throat, "Well, we should stop right here." She nodded decidedly and paused before adding a bit more quietly, "Because I tried a casual fuck once and I was not very happy with the results." Jack made a slight grunting noise that resembled a stifled laugh, licked his lips, and gave Audrey a look that, if put into words, could have only been a confused, sarcastic "um, okay." She took note of it and quickly added, "Yes, so perhaps we should discuss this a bit more before we go diving into anything...rash" Jack shrugged. He was immediately provoked by the tone and emphasis she laid upon that last word "rash" to ask her what the hell had just happened. Yet, he kept his silence and let her ramble on as he was accustomed to her doing. Audrey continued, "Or maybe we should just wait. A while longer." Her last phrase held an unquestionable certainty and finality. She sighed and to avoid questions, glanced away from Jack and out of the window.

"Okay," Jack said softly after a minute or two had passed in silence. "Okay. That's fine. We don't have to do anything. I don't want to make you uncomfortable. We'll just wait." He crept over to Audrey and enclosed her in the circle of his arms. Kissing her cheek, he repeated, "We'll wait. I promise."

ollllllllllllllllo

Jack adjusted the collar of his worn, black leather jacket before walking across the street and into the doorway of a bar on the south side blasting punk music that could be heard for a solid mile in any direction. He dusted off his plain white t-shirt and nodded to the bouncer at the door as he casually strolled into the joint. "Mikey, how are ya?" he said on his way through. Mikey nodded back. Jack lit up a cigarette and made his way over to the bar. Upon reaching it, he blew a thick puff of smoke out of his mouth, leaned on the bar's edge, and said to bartender, "How's it rollin'?"

"Heya Jack," the bartender said and automatically slid Jack a beer across the counter.

Jack caught it and pulled his cig out to take a swig. "Heya Skitts."

"No Moon for you tonight?"

"Nah," Jack said and snuffed out a cigarette in the half full ashtray to his right, "I'm not working till Saturday." In addition to his internship at The Post, Jack also kept bar at The Spanish Moon on the weekends. The Spanish Moon was a bit of a trendy hole in the wall at the moment. It was as old as dirt and semi-famous for featuring many of the punk and rock groups three steps before they hit it big. A real grassroots sort of place, and Jack loved it. Loved the stale smell of it – of wood and alcohol and smoke and oxidizing metal. Loved the dim lights and the deafening music from the wailing guitar chords jacked up to 8 on the amps. "How's your band?" he asked.

_Skittery was in a band called "Cat Eye Blue," They played most weekends down at the Spanish Moon. Their sound was somewhat of a special Pink Floyd/Oasis/Smiths blend, according to Skittery. Jack had met Skitts though bartending. On stage, Skittery was the most enigmatic of the bunch that comprised the band, yet possibly the most brilliant bassist that Jack had heard in a long time. He preferred to keep to a corner of the stage, decked out in black eyeliner and leather pants and thoroughly lost in his bass licks. He'd come over to the bar in between and after sets, and it was while mixing him drinks that Jack discovered that contrary to the quiet, mysterious character that he played on stage, Andrew Ingram was quite a witty, sarcastic conversationalist. He told Jack that he also bartended and said that Jack should check out the place. Jack did, and had ever since been as regular to Dublin's as Skittery's band had been to The Spanish Moon. _

"Sooo..." Jack said to the barkeep. "Poker Friday? You up for it?"

Skittery shrugged and said, "Why not?"

Jack smiled. He'd cleaned all of them out weeks before and wanted to give them...and their wallets...a chance to recover before he gleaned them again. Jack loved poker, but more than that, he loved how good at it he was. There was not a bill he didn't pay with his poker funds. Rent usually came from bartending and The Post...but bills were solely left up to poker.

"Look, I need to get drunk tonight, Skitts," Jack told his friend.

Skittery raised his eyebrows, and still cleaning glasses asked, "How drunk?"

"Forgetting that the bills are due next week drunk. Not remembering that I have this huge assignment to do and no idea what to do it on drunk. Just "problems? what problems?" kind of intoxicated," was the answer.

"Ah. Savvy." Skittery answered and passed Jack another beer.

Jack gladly accepted it. He had started in on it when he heard a familiar, determined female voice delivering a loud address behind him. "Tell me Spot," it said, "How you can just sit there on your ass and paint all day? You can't, can you? You've got to go out sometimes." Jack turned and came face to face with Raven. She was dressed to the nines as always and smiling gleefully. Looking around her, Jack saw Spot following in tow behind her...not so gleefully.

"Heeeeey Jack," Ray said, pulling up a barstool beside him. "What have you got there? Bartender, I'll take one of whatever he's got."

"We've been together for a month and a half, and already she's nagging me," Spot complained to Jack. He glanced around Jack to his girlfriend and mused, "Thanks Ray. Way to show you care."

"Shut up," Ray commanded with a roll of her eyes. "So, Jack," she said, the note in her voice changing from commanding to pleasant once more, "Where's your girl?"

"Don't you know?" Jack posed to her, "You do live with her and all."

Raven feigned mock offense. "What am I? Am I my Audrey's keeper? No. Girl has a mind of her own." Ray paused to take an unlady-like swallow from her bottle, and slammed it back down on the bar as punctuation to her words. "She can do whatever she wants whenever she wants. I don't watch over her like a nervous mother. Unless it's necessary, and then I make special allowances."

"Not that Ray would ever pass up a chance to boss someone around," Spot added sulkily from the other side of Jack. Raven turned and sent a perfectly executed growl in his direction.

"She's at work, I think," Jack said, tearing off bits of the damp label on his bottle. "Least, that's what I remember her telling me. And if she's not there, I'm sure she's-"

"Painting," Jack and Ray concluded at the same time.

"Yes, yes," Raven said in a singsong voice, "We all know what a devoted little artist our little Audrey love is. Just wish she'd get a damn life sometimes."

"_MIA!"_

"What the hell?" Ray asked, her brow wrinkling as she attempted to deduce who could possibly be yelling her Christian name across a crowded bar in those parts. She whipped her head around to see a button-cute, dark haired girl bounding toward her. "Frankie?" she asked.

"Hiii Mia!" the girl said once she'd reached Raven the rest of the group. "It's been so long since I've seen you. How are you?" The two girls exchanged hugs and kissed-cheek greetings.

"I'm fabulous as always," Raven answered with a flip of her hair, "But what the fuck are you doing here, Frankie?"

"Well," Frankie began wrinkling her freckle smattered nose, "Some friends of mine knew some friends of theirs that were going to be here, so I got dragged along. You know."

"Yeah," said Ray. "Oh, this is Spot and that's Jack." She gestured to the boys to her right and left. "Guys, this is my cousin, Frankie." Ray watched as Frankie shook hands with both boys. Looking behind her, she realized she'd left Jack's bartender friend out. "Sorry, but I don't know who you are," she told him and then grabbed Jack's arm to get his attention. "Jack, what's this guy's name?"

"Skittery," he answered.

"Strange name," Ray responded. "And Frankie, this is Skittery."

"Hi, nice to meet you," Frankie said, holding out her hand for Skittery to shake. "That's an interesting name you've got."

Raven noticed the change in her cousin's voice and rolled her eyes. Frankie was melting into the floor, she was sure of it. Her big green eyes had widened to moon-sized orbs and her voice was all soft and breathy. Raven had to try her hardest to not gag at the sickly sappy display before her. "Well, that's what the boys call me," Ray heard him reply, "But my mother still calls me Andrew." Raven turned away quickly before she had to witness the dreamy look plastered on Frankie's face as she drawled, "Ohhh, Andreeew. That's a nice name too."

"I'm gonna throw up. She's positively swooning over him, and it's disgusting," Ray whispered in Jack's ear, and Jack chuckled in response.

"Yeah, Skitts usually gets this sort of response," Jack muttered back under his breath, "You should see him when he's onstage. It's fuckin' ridiculous how girls react to him."

"You trying to steal my girl away by whispering sweet nothings in her ear, Kelly?" Spot piped up suddenly. Spot looked out questioningly from under the low-pulled brim of his wool gray cap. The two looked up somewhat guiltily. Jack opened his mouth to refute the accusations, but Spot immediately silenced him with an authoritative glare. That attention commanding stare he had perfected over twenty one years. "No, no, no," he said, "There's not need for some pathetic defense. Save it. I don't want to hear it. You can have her Jacky-boy."

Ray looked shocked for a moment, her mouth falling slightly ajar. Spot was pleased, he had gone for this sort of reaction and was tickled at receiving it. Raven pushed back her stool and stood up. She walked over to Spot intently, and without a moment's hesitation, raised her right hand and struck Spot across the cheek. As he sat there in disbelief, holding his still smarting cheek, she linked arms with a reluctant Frankie and strode off haughtily. "So, what have you been up to lately?" Spot heard Ray ask the younger girl as they both walked away.

Spot was indignant. He held the side of his face and looked to his friend for comfort or support. Yet all Spot Conlon received from Jack Kelly was amusement. "It's not fucking funny," Spot muttered, yet Jack still continued to double over, overcome within hysterical laughter.

ollllllllllllllo

Audrey had requested a glass of water in addition to the glass of Coca Cola she ordered. Her waitress brought it to her complete with a red and white striped a straw perkily floating it. The glass now sat to her left, and its contents had transformed into a striking shade of blue-violet. Over and over, Audrey deftly plunged her number 12 flat sable brush in between the ice cubes. The paper before her was immersed in a wash of ice blue and lavender gray. Time and inspiration had been so sparse that even her lunch hours were consumed with producing more paintings for class assignments. She had to do some of it, as insignificant of an amount of progress as some attempts might have produced. At least she was progressing somewhat. Every little bit counted.

"Tell me that you're not drinking that."

The voice was strong, yet gentle. If she did not know better, she could have easily assumed that it had come from God, himself. Audrey twisted around in booth to locate the owner of such a voice, and was pleasantly surprised to see a handsome man looking over her shoulder. The smoothness of the voice adequately matched the man from which it came. He was thin, yet not overly so – his features clean-cut and strong. His hair was a dark near black and it reminded her of Kit's hair colour. But unlike Kit, the man's eyes were golden green and echoed his smile.

"You aren't going to drink that?" he asked once more, "Are you."

"No, no," Audrey said, "Of course I'm not. I'm just multitasking. You know, working as I eat, unfortunately."

He looked at the watercolour in front of her. "A painter?" was his question.

"Yes," she answered, "Well, almost. No more than a student, really. And not such a good one at that."

"I'd beg to differ from the looks of that," he said and motioned toward the empty seat across the table from her. "Do you mind if I sit?"

"No, no," Audrey responded, "I mean yes. Or, not rather. I mean....yes, please it." She smiled sheepishly, and cursed her foolish tongue and slow mind.

"I'm Martin Lovell." He held out his hand across the table, and clasped Audrey's in it, shaking firmly.

"Audrey Nellwyn," she said. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise. I can't help asking, but where are you from?"

"England. Sussex, specifically," Audrey answered.

"Oh," Martin replied, not giving the usual look of confusion that she expected from him. "Anywhere near Brighton, maybe?"

Audrey knew the look of pleasant surprise must have been evident on her face when she nearly gleefully exclaimed, "Yes. Brighton exactly. Born and raised."

"Well, it's a beautiful place. You should be proud to hail from it," Martin told her. "I visited there once on a tour of Europe I took one summer with a group from school. I'm an architect, if you were wondering." He reached into his pocket and produced a small white rectangle and handed it to her. "Here's my card as proof. So you know that I'm for real and not some sexual predator who stalks young girls in restaurants or something. I took a few drawing and painting classes while I was in college – that's why I took note of your painting. You said you were a student, right?" Audrey nodded. "What school?"

"NYU," she answered, "Third year. I'm doing the student exchange program. I did the University College in London for a few years when I was back in England, though."

"Very nice," Martin said.

"Sometimes it is," Audrey responded. "Every other month, I tend to swear that I hate school and just wish I had gone into basketweaving or something simpler. Of course, these times of hatred do seem to coincide with those flustered, hurried weeks in which everything becomes due at one time."

"Ah, yes," Martin said with a knowing grin. "I remember those days from undergrad. At the end of those weeks I used to reward myself with a case of beer, a pizza, and three movies. I think that those times, not the parties or the academic achievements, were the best times of my college career that I can recall."

"My poison is a huge ice cream cone, a huge mug of coffee, a pack of cigarettes and shopping. In that order exactly."

"Very, very nice," Martin told her. He glanced at his wrist and a more serious expression took over his smiling face. "Look Audrey, I hate to cut out on you like this, but I've got a meeting with a client and he's very temperamental. A real stickler for punctuality, if you know what I mean. But it was lovely meeting you. Perhaps I'll bump into you again sometime, in another diner, and you'll be sitting in a booth making fluorescent water so I can tease you about it again." He smiled warmly and then stood, shaking Audrey's hand once more before he exited the booth. He walked toward the door and waved over his shoulder before leaving the restaurant to hail a cab.

After he'd gone, Audrey examined his card. "Martin Lovell," it read, "Architect. Firm of Bartram and Haddessy." Under his name, position, and employer were two phone numbers and an email address. "Some man," she mused, "to be important enough to have two phone numbers and an email address to boot." Audrey slipped the card inside the back of her sketchpad and continued her painting without another thought devoted to Martin Lovell that day.

* * *

DISCLAIMER:

Haiku courtesy of the lovely Run, who doesn't realize how good of a writer she really is. Lines that sound like they came from the movie, probably do. And we all know who the movie belongs to.

LadyRach: Dear Audrey is far from perfect. And binge painting is a funny phrase. I'm going to coin it and make a million off of it....somehow. Alas, Jack is hopelessly adorable. Especially StarryEyed!Jack. But you're entirely right, it is best not to fall for him in the long run. (Because Pianist!Jack could prove to be lethal.) Sigh. Sigh. Sigh some more.

Ray Ray: continues the loooove This story will rock if I ever finish it. My cousin to me: "So, this is like your masterpiece." Me: "No, it's my opus." Rush is such a franchise now and I love every piece of it. (If only we could make a profit. I'll get on that.)

Run: grumbles at Can't have progress without bugs right? I fixed it so now there are dividers between the scenes. grumbles at again Vive la Candor!

Raeghann: You were entirely right, love. The scenes were just there...without an easing into. I rearranged the parts so that it flows better, I think. Constructive criticism is better than pancakes in my book. Love to you for giving it to me.

Dreamer: Musicians are indeed sex personified. Especially pianists. Tres yum. Raven is funny, isn't she? I laugh for hours at some of the scenes I write containing her. She's like my little Ray-doll. I can dress her, comb her hair, pose her, and put her into funny situations.

Emu: Thanks for prodding, love.


	5. fact not fiction

chapter 5. fact not fiction (this is)

Jack sat on the edge of the dock. One leg dangled over and the other bent to act as a desk for the brown leather-bound journal that lay in his lap. He leaned against a post and stared off into the direction of the rising sun. Dawn was breaking, clearing the dusk and its fuzzy gray light. He had been up since he woke from all too real dreamscape at three thirty in the morning. Why, he did not know. Jack couldn't understand it- he'd forgone his early eleven o'clock bedtime trying to alleviate the most forthcoming article deadline. Until one he was up typing meaningless bits of information about political propaganda crap that he gave not one damn about. After he'd finished, he balanced his checkbook and organized it so that it matched perfectly with the nonexistent funds in his bank statement and wondered how the hell a seemingly large sum of money could disappear so fast. He fought it, tried all he knew how to go back to the peaceful slumber he had known merely minutes before, but he lost to insomnia.

With a groan, he decided to make the best of the situation and got out of bed, paced a few laps around his apartment to get his blood flowing and try to talk himself into a completely lucid state. Then he decided he'd make use of his woken state and work on some of his assignments for school. Jack turned on his computer and sat in front of it for a good forty five minutes trying to convince himself that if he could just start typing, he'd eventually come up with something. Yet, he found that he had so much to do that he sat and did nothing. He did nothing except think of the million things that he was obligated to finish by the end of the week and stare at the screen with pronounced attention and distraction. Jack felt lost, helpless, and immensely overwhelmed. So, while he dwelled in this state of being, he could not muster the concentration it took to actually start hacking away on some of the mountings. He was crippled by his workload and the looming feeling of impending doom that went along with it.

Finally giving in to the fact that no work of the school sort would ever get done while he couldn't concentrate on anything but the amount of work he had to do, Jack got up from the computer and made himself a breakfast of month old strawberry Pop-Tarts and leftover pizza. He brewed a pot of coffee and drank two cups of it black while he made yet another detailed "to-do" list and perused that morning copy of the Times that he was required by his Journalism 404 to read ever day. After breakfast, it was still too early for Jack to begin making his way to school or work. Therefore, he packed his school bag and headed out the door. He wandered aimlessly down the sidewalks of lower Manhattan. For the city that never slept, traffic was closer to nonexistent at the time of morning and if Jack tried hard enough, he could have imagined that he were somewhere more like Philadelphia than New York. But he liked it that way...he liked the thinly populated streets, more cluttered with trash than throngs of people.

Jack stood on the street corner and waited to cross the road. A few taxis passed by at once, conjuring up gusts of fabricated wind that blew through his hair. For a moment, he thought he could love the city, but he took a deep breath and inhaled the sharp scent of new pollution and street sludge wet by the morning dew and the short shower of the previous night. He turned to the left and saw a community of the homeless on a small, weed-overgrown vacant lot huddled around a fire in a barrel. New York City was a battle waged constantly. It was a battle for one's very existence and a battle he was tired of fighting. "This town is crazy. Nobody cares," he said, turning up his collar and shoved his hands deep in his pants pocket, thankful that he had an apartment to go home to, even if it was a hellhole.

After he crossed the street, another ragged beggar man on the corner held out an empty cup and looked at Jack with hollow, pleading eyes filled with desperation and hunger. Without thinking, Jack reached into his back pocket and from his wallet produced a ten dollar bill. He really couldn't spare it with rent due in a few days, but something about the man's need touched his heart a little more in his weary, altered state. He didn't care if the man spent it on food or heroin – the small second flicker of gratitude that crossed his face was worth it. Jack roamed for a while more, and after quite a long walk, he somehow found himself at the Brooklyn docks, sitting on Pier 6 specifically. His worn journal was open on his knee and he scrawled abstract phrases and bits of words or lyrics that made no apparent sense into it. His right held the pen, but also cradled a cigarette between the first two fingers.

_Homeless man in my Eden of a hell....Lovely lovely girl – Diana with an English tongue and fascination.....persuasion. But you could make it last forever. Before I'm home and I lose myself. More sex, more goodbyes._ _Tomorrow's just an excuse. _

As he wrote, memories went off in his mind like slides in a music montage. The homeless man he'd given his last ten dollar bill to. His mother's face. Audrey jumping on her bed while he sat on it and tried not to bounce. A fleeting picture Sarah's face when she smiled her soft contented smile. She flashed out as quickly as she had come in. Jack would not let himself dwell on her and made an effort to concentrate on Audrey and her whimsical undone nature...her black sweatshirt and legwarmers...her safety pins and never sleeping anti-gracious grace. He took drags from the lit cigarette between messily penned words. On the paper before him collected more scrawled lines. The beginning of a song. Of course, the words he'd written comprised only a few troublesome lines that Jack considered far more clumsy than lyrical. He furrowed his brow and angrily yanked the page from its binding. It came loose with a loud rip. He balled it up into the smallest, most bitterly compact ball manageable and pitched it into the East River below him without any regard or thought to the fact that he was directly littering. Was any song worth singing anymore? Jack didn't know.

* * *

"I've looked over your portfolio."

Audrey's stomach turned as she grimaced. It was term review time in the world of NYU art, and it was Audrey's turn to run the gauntlet of horror that was the one on one conference. She tried to hide her fear, tried to wipe the anxiety and flinch off of her face so Prof. Scott would not notice her evident dread. However, she wasn't sure how well it was working. She said perfectly still, except for her right foot, which she lightly tapped against the left of the chair in uneager anticipation as she waited for the next words out of Kellie Scott's mouth. True, they were only words. Yet words of this sort were injuring and dangerous detriments to the continuation of her chosen career path.

"And your paintings are brilliant technically speaking."

Brilliant was a good thing. Brilliant with the "technically speaking" butted onto the end of the sentence was most definitely not. It meant more to come. It meant that the technical aspect was not was what going to make her case or save her from any criticism or command to reform. Audrey sighed. She must have gone through this process of individual review and critique at least a million times. Yet, none were as worse as these. She didn't know if the standards had changed since she was in New York and not London, or if she had changed somehow. But whatever it was, it was not working out to her benefit. What she was giving them was nothing that they wanted.

"Yet..."

Oh the bloody, fucking, terrible "yet", Audrey thought and wanted to kill herself. Wanted to take out her X-Acto knife and slash her wrists open right then and there so that she would not have to hear what would succeed that "yet." She hated the way that Professor Scott was pausing...pregnant pauses that drew things out and allowed Audrey too much time in between to think of how in the world she could make more time to devote to making her art the opposite of whatever problem her teacher was about to spit out. Things like that were death to a painter. To Audrey, it would have been like torture added onto death – cruel and unusual punishment.

She sat there near motionless – her tapping foot had been replaced by the subconscious wringing of her hands. When she realized how nervous it must have made her seem, she immediately clapped them back onto the seat of her chair. She wanted to bite her fingernails. Yes, she wanted to give them a thorough chewing, particularly the skin around her thumbnail. But she decided that such an action would definitely communicate to her professor that she was slowly going out of her mind sitting there. And that would have been a bad image to present. She had to maintain her calm state. That's it – maintain. No nail or skin biting. And no smoking. Mmmm...smoking – Audrey could taste the smoke in her mouth. At that moment, she would have killed for one good drag from that lit stick of paper and nicotine. She would have positively killed and not thought twice about it. So, in lieu of biting her fingernails or blowing puffs of smoke into her teacher's face, she used a more enlightened approach. She zoned out.

She could still hear Professor Scott talking about "the sort of reserved nature of the work," and how "that may work if that was what the goal was," but Audrey was lost in her daydreams. She could have transported herself anywhere. She saw herself at the coffee shop around the corner, having a sugar loaded toffee mocha frappe' and languidly doodling on a napkin while taking to Lute about Rita Hayworth. Then she put herself at the beach in a red polka dotted bikini. _Ugh._ She wrinkled her nose at this thought. She was too self conscious for red polka dot bikini. No. Her subconscious then shifted her to Brighton.

_It was raining, drizzling really, and she was wearing her favourite hooded sweatshirt and boots and walking through the puddles on her way home. Just last year. The beauty of being a child and grown all at the same time. Nineteen had been wondrous in that way. It was similar to sixteen for Audrey in that she felt electric and infinite – bombs could have gone off around her and she would have neither noticed nor been affected by them. But she found not the same comfort in twenty. It wasn't nearly as kind nor was it the profound revelation she had so naively expected from her first year out of her teens_.

"and...they lack heart."

The silvery, dripping sky and wet streets suddenly caught fire and burned to the ground, leaving only ashes of the remnants to clutter her mind. She stared at her feet, yet the ground under them was not soaked pavement, but paint-dirtied brown tile. This was another floor, another season. Sudden destruction of one's dreamworld coupled with a harsh jolt back reality was not for the faint of heart, she realized. She wouldn't have recommended it to pregnant mothers, those with physical ailments, or the elderly Audrey mused. She flinched, more from the suddenly lassoing and forced return to reality than the words that Professor Scott was saying to her. Audrey blinked several times and then closed her eyes tightly. She opened them slowly while regaining her composure. "They lack heart?" she repeated slowly, hesitantly. "Excellent," she whispered under her breath at a volume escapable to her teacher's ears.

The professor nodded "And they're a bit stiff and I don't know...restrained, possibly."

"Oh," Audrey said in response. Crespo had said the same thing. That the work had been amazing in its form, composition, and colour – yet something was missing. Some universal communication or transcendence was not to be found in any of the paintings she'd presented to him, he had said. "Paintings should have a sense of something, of anything with the essence of human permeating through it and resonating. They should throb with something." To which Audrey had grimaced. She had no idea how to take these reviews...no idea how to respond to something like that except to say the generic, "Thank you. I'll consider all of this and try harder. I'll work harder." Work harder: it was all she did know how to do. She had no idea how to remedy this fleeting and abstractly subjective problem. What was she doing wrong? She didn't know. She only worked, worked her hardest – and she had thought that she was doing what was right. The best she knew how. But apparently, it seemed that the way in which she had been going about it was horridly wrong.

Audrey took a deep breath. She had sat there for a long time in silence just listening to what Professor Scott had to say. Audrey Nellwyn, also known as the naive little art student with a messy bun and paint on her pants...safety pins holding a part of her shoe together and twenty years of her lifespan amounting to nothing but a definite verification (truth) that she knew nothing of the world. "Well," she said, disappointed and resigned yet trying not to seem that way, "How do I remedy this?"

"Well, Audrey, for one, you must convince yourself that you are a good painter. I see proof here and as I said, your technical abilities are amazing for someone your age. But to remedy the restraint and stiffness, you'll have to work that out on your own. What inspires you? Think about that. You should do something every day that makes you feel alive because your life outside of the canvas is immediately reflected in your paintings. Your outside life is what will make or break you. Your work is a diary, even if it isn't written."

"Everything is a diary." Audrey responded. She chuckled. The book. Jack's beloved Chuck was always saying that everything was a diary. Every little God forsaken bleeding thing. From what you ate for breakfast, to how you wrote your name and every minute detail in between had your hand in it.

She spent the rest of her day thinking about how she could live a little more so as to insert a little more of life's vitality into her art. Yet by the time she finally gave up and settled on bed at the ripe hour of four, she had still come up with something. No, that was a lie that she told herself. In truth, she had come up with something – a little experiment, but it was somewhat absurd and she really had no inkling as to whether or not it would actually worth. "However," she thought staring at herself in the bathroom mirror late that night, "it would most definitely be interesting if nothing else." With all that in mind, she did not disqualify the means. Instead, she vowed that she would continue to think of other methods and put her first unusual idea down as a last resort. She wasn't even sure it was so unusual for artists to have done or do, yet it was quite out of character for her. Perhaps "out of character" was exactly the sort of thing she needed, but did not know she needed because she was far too conservative and restrained. She sighed and took another pink pill from its bottle. With it on her tongue, a mouthful of water gulped from the sink, and two swallows, she flicked off the bathroom light and plodded toward her bed.

* * *

"So, when the new job starts, I'm going to put a little money in the bank and then blow the rest...are you ready for this? On shoes! I have decided that I am going to be a shoe connoisseur –slash- _collector_!"

Audrey stopped mid-action and wrinkled her nose. "But Ray, weren't you already?"

Ray smirked and stretched her arms out above her head. "But that's where you're wrong. Yes, I was somewhat, but in truth I was really only a sort of amateur hobbyist. We're going professional this time." She bent into a deep squat, and looked over her shoulder at her friend. "Audrey, dear – watch your feet. You've got to turn out to plie. Turn out. And keep your back straight too."

Audrey groaned and then stiffened – her back becoming ramrod straight as she awkwardly pointed her toes outward. "This hurts" she said through gritted teeth.

"I know," Ray returned, her voice taking on an authoritative tone. "It's supposed to. And hon, I said _straight_, not stiff. Muster up some grace from somewhere, will you?"

"I'm glad you aren't making me do that," Nicole spoke up from her seat atop a cleared space on Audrey's desk. She studied her long fingernails as though they were intensely interesting. Then, quickly losing interest in her nails, she turned her attention into braiding a section of her long hair.

"I'm not _making _her do anything," Ray insisted. "She asked me to show her some things so that she could...what was the phrase you used darling 'make good use out of her legwarmers?' Nic, don't you have to be at work soon ?"

Nicole sneered. "Argh. Yes. I hate my job. I would consider quitting if I had another to which I could go. Do you know that they are making me work tomorrow even though I told them that I had that huge project due on Thursday and therefore, could not work Wednesday? Bastards. I worked on that thing forever last night. Typed up fourteen pages of research…played with fonts for one hour in order to conserve paper. It was nineteen before I changed the font size to nine point. And yes, I get to meet with one of those important-seeming representative people about it after I present it to the class. I think that's next Tuesday. Though I don't think it's going to be what I assume it is. There'll probably end up being a whole bunch of kids from the department there and the guy in charge will just lecture us about the nature of the overall project. But still I'm printing off those fourteen pages of research. And there would have been more, had I had the paper/wish to waste that much paper. Grrr...these kinds of stupid, should-be insignificant things get in the way of work. Then I've got that lovely math test on Friday. They're trying to fucking kill me I swear-"

Ray chose that very moment to cut her off mid-sentence. "It's raining hard outside, isn't it?" She feigned interest in the droves pouring down outside the window. "Hasn't rained in a few weeks or so." In truth, Ray had absolutely no interest in the rain whatsoever. She had lost interest a few sentences back and almost completely tuned Nicole out halfway through her rant. Now, she was ready to have her turn to talk because a fascinatingly tasty little notion was brewing in the back of her mind. "So, Audrey girl," she began, her voice coy and almost knowing, "Is Jack a permanent fixture? I haven't seen you hanging around any new artsy boys in a while."

Audrey scoffed as she went down into a deep knee bend. "Artsy boys, I've decided are nothing but empty, pretentious losers with no money or plans and souls too deep and dark for my taste."

"Mmm..., but you didn't answer my question," Raven said without stopping her execution of perfectly practiced and executed plies, "You little sneak – do you think you are getting away with this? Let me inform you that you are NOT. But that's no problem. I guess I'll have to be more blunt - This means you like teh Jack, no?"

"Teh Jack?"

"That's what I said."

"Ray, you are horridly good at that – do you practice every night before you go to sleep?"

"Stop changing the suuuuuuuubjeeccct," Ray countered in a singsong voice.

Audrey sighed deeply and stopped her rhythmic knee bends. "Well, he's a normal boy. And it's nice that he is. God, I just get so tired of all of the painters and art department boys and their nonsense. They give me headaches. I think it's a very good idea for me to take a normal boy for a spin for a little while. They're easier – there's less tragedy, less desperation, less creative process garbage than art boys. And to me, that is just oh-so appealing right now. So, yes...I guess I do really like the Jack."

Ray grinned, but spared Audrey her I-knew-it speech. Without saying another word of Jack, Ray grabbed the younger girl's arm and pulled her closer. "Come here Audrey dear," she said. She took Audrey's hair and with a few smart, deft movements of her hand, had wound Audrey's long ponytail into a tidy bun. After she had pinned it in place, Raven looked up to see Nicole standing and turned out in first position.

"Don't say anything Ray," Nicole warned. "I used to take ballet lessons when I was a kid. I wanna see if I've still got it in me. Besides, I can't let you two have all the fun." Nicole straightened her back and lifted her arms above her head, swiftly and gracefully, she executed a perfect grande plie. To this, Ray only shrugged and shook her head in near disbelief.

"Nicole used to be a pink pretty princess bun head," Audrey mused, one hand on her hip as she observed. Nicole nodded. "Imagine that. I can't say that I'm not flaming jealous though. You know, I always wanted to do ballet. But I never started earlier enough. When I was twelve, I asked my mum why she had never put me in a dance class. She said that she had tried, but I was too shy and sulky of a child and cried the entire time until she took me out." She shook her head in disgust. "I was so stupid. Children are so stupid sometimes – they have no concept of how they are ruining the rest of their lives by doing or not doing certain things." Audrey turned slightly and caught sight of her well groomed, proper self in the mirror. "How'd you do that?" she asked in awe, after admiring Ray's work in the mirror.

"I've had lots of practice," Ray answered with grin. She trotted over to the radio and turned it on with a flick of her red painted fingernail. A peppy, honey coated voice poured out, crooning lyrics about being someone's mother, father, and sister in one. Raven chuckled at it and then asked, "So, does this mean no pretty, tragic boys will be coming around?"

"I guess that's what it means Mia Raven," Audrey answered.

"That's good...they were a bit, I don't know - prissy. But god, some of them were just so goddamn beautiful that I'd fuck them anyway. Tsk, tsk. Such a shame." When, in response, Audrey only grinned and shrugged slightly instead of reprimanding her about being crude or arguing that all the boys were not prissy, Raven suspected that something was definitely out of sorts. "What's wrong with you?" she asked outright. Raven circled around Audrey and studied her as Audrey acted incredulous to the thought that something was either up or wrong with here. "Something happened. You're smiling a lot. You've been smiling a lot these past few days. So, oh yeah, something happened. I just don't know what. Yet. But I bet it's got something to do with Jack." She stopped and rethought her last statement, tilting her head to the side. "Well," she reconsidered, "either Jack or paint, because God knows a good hour of painting is like an orgasm to you. My bet is on Jack though."

Audrey was silent for a few pregnant moments. She stood almost still, scrunching her mouth to one side and twisting a stray lock of hair around her finger. When she did speak, finally and however, what she said was something that neither Nicole nor Ray had expected. "Fine," she said. "It was Sunday. On Sunday, we made love for the first time." Nicole stopped braiding her hair and Ray froze mid plie.

"You what?" squeaked Nicole weakly.

Both paled as their jaws dropped hard, and they turned to stare at Audrey wide-eyed. "Are you happy now?" Audrey asked them. She could feel the burning annoyance of a rose colour trickle up through her cheeks. She instantly regretted saying anything about it and felt like that embarrassed nine year old that she had been...the one who knocked over part of the set in her school play. Or the shamed six-year-old that wet her knickers on the playground in primary school. The sullen, dark pigtailed child that shirked in terror as Billy Corrigan and Jamey Wax-Madder teased mercilessly with chants of "Tawdry Audrey." _If only she could learn to keep her big, flapping mouth shut,_ she thought. _Perhaps she should invest in some wood glue, as she had heard that it could fasten anything. _

The music was abruptly turned off and the room was utterly silent. "Well, sex is a very smiley kind of thing." Audrey looked up to see Raven grinning coyly at her. Raven raised her eyebrows slightly and winked at Audrey. "So that's why you've never been home lately."

Audrey scoffed, incredulous that Raven was scolding her for never being home. "Yeah," she said, "I spent a month there one night."

Ray chose to ignore Audrey's retort. Or perhaps it was that she did not even hear it. She hadher eyes, and her ears for that matter, on one goal. Audrey's romp in the sack with the delightful Jack had taken up every free brain cell, and Ray was salivating for more. "You aren't going to be a horrible little wench and not tell me alllll about it, are you?" she said.

That small statement comforted Audrey slightly with its lightheartedness and its gleaming shade of Ray's loving-teasing thrown in. "What's there to tell?" questioned Audrey. "There's nothing. We slept together on Sunday. I'm sure I don't have to explain the mechanics or details of that act to you Ray, love."

_Ha ha ha_. Ray's laughter was like tambourines or a flute solo, simply as perfect as she was. "I'm sure you don't Audrey. But some details would be nice...if that's not too much trouble."

"_Are you sure?" Jack whispered uncertainly into her ear. He stopped as quickly as he had started, and then pulled back with worry in his eyes to look into hers...to brush a stray lock of hair off of her face. Audrey nodded in response. "Because I don't want to make you do anything you're uncomfortable with," Jack continued. "We've discussed this already and like I said the first time, we don't have to do this. We can wait. And I mean that – we can. I don't mind."_

_Audrey quieted him with a soft laugh. "Silly Jack," she said, "You shouldn't worry so much." With that comment she gave him a wide, coy grin and then grasped both of his shoulders and pulled him downward upon her. Burying her face in his body, she kissed the curve of his neck and filled her nostrils with the musky scent of his cologne and the faint odor of his cigarettes. It was familiar. It was comfortable. It was Jack and it gave her a warm feeling inside, almost as though her heart were swelling slightly inside of her chest. _

"It wasn't even night. It wasn't even dark. It was late in the morning, and I had been at his house late that night before. We were up doing various things – I had come over to help him write a paper that he was mulling over but getting nowhere. Sometime after that, he played piano for me and we got caught up in thirty something rounds of Rummy. At about four, I stumbled into his room, bleary eyed and laid in his bed to rest for a moment. I woke up the next morning to find myself under the covers, still fully dressed. He was already up and watching me sleep. Stroking my hair all the while."

_Jack leaned over and whispered something wordless into Audrey's ear. Something faint and breathy that vibrated her inner ear and sent little chills over her skin, but lacking words that she could make out. "What did you say?" she asked, suspecting that she probably already knew. She didn't think he'd tell her again. She thought she knew boys and their inclinations. Since she hadn't heard it the first time, he had probably thought it over and was embarrassed. Or maybe he hadn't meant it at all and her deafness to his words gave him time to realize that. But to her surprise, he only grinned and leaned closer to her ear once more to utter that same short sentence. All she could say in return was "Oh." But it was a perfect "oh" coupled with the perfect soft look on her face, and the perfect way she held onto him as though the embrace would allow her to transcend mediocrity into something more profound. _

"He whispered something into my ear...and then one thing led to another, and there we were....late in the morning, teeth unbrushed, messy hair, half-dressed in yesterday's clothes. His window was open, and the only sounds were traffic, birds chirping and heavy breathing on an old, squeaky mattress on the floor as he undressed me. Undressed me and told me I was beautiful. Ha. I didn't believe him one bit."

_The light filled the room. There was no murky darkness or hazy shadows to hide any imperfection as night's loveliness would have. No, she lay naked and bare before exposed and immediately very aware of the fact that she was so. Her gut cried out for her to cover, and her impulse was to curl into a ball and somehow hide herself away from his seeing eyes. Her body started to recoil, but something stopped her. Perhaps it was the way he was looking at her...it wasn't as though he were looking or judging, but looking past. Though she was bare and exposed before him, he looked into her eyes and nowhere else. Audrey felt her body start to ease in his hold. Tension and worry seeped out through her pores and away from her entirely. At that moment, her unsatisfactory midterm reviews did not exists, her still unfinished painting did not exist, neither did her D in art history, her professors, rent, school, homesickness, her future or past – none of it. It all ceased to be somehow for the short time she allowed herself to be fully enveloped in Jack's embrace. His head lowered in to her chest and she closed her eyes, scarcely breathing._

_When she felt Jack finally push between her legs, she twitched slightly at the sharp hint of pain. But it soon dulled and became easily overlooked. It took a few graceless moments of shifting positions and tangling and untangling limbs until a comfortable, easily executed one was found. After they were settled, Audrey laid her head back on the pillow and tried to ignore the slight embarrassment she felt over the strangeness of their new found "familiarity." It was an odd sensation, Jack's satiny skin sliding against hers, his flesh sticking to hers at times...the rhythmically moving in and out. His hands in her hair and his face closely pressed to hers. The way his hands clung to her tightly at times, fingers digging into her sides or shoulders. He came all too soon. She felt his breathing speed up, all of his muscles tense, and then with a spasm, the tension released inside of her. With his head nuzzled firmly into the curve of her neck, she could hear his panting lessen. He then pulled out and rolled to the over to lay at her side. Where there was intense warmth, there now came a chill – the cold air sticking to the sweat that lay on Audrey's body where their skin had collided. Jack sensed her slight shiver and pulled the covers up around her shoulders. _

"The whole thing was..." Audrey fumbled for words. "Well...It was awkward and yet...wonderful at the same time." She shrugged her shoulders. "It was probably exactly the way it should have happened. Afterwards we showered, went out for breakfast at the little bakery around the corner, watched a movie and made love again that night before falling asleep. This time we laughed and it was somehow more comfortable."

"Mmm...Is that all?" Raven asked.

"Well, yes," said Audrey, a bit defensively. "It wasn't some grand revelation. There was no transfiguration. Fireworks did not go off and light did not stream out of our pores when we were, erm, connected. It was sex. What were you expecting?"

"I dunno. A little more detail, maybe?"

"There's nothing more to tell," she explained. "What more can I say? I loved it. I loved the way he made me feel." She paused for a few seconds before looking downward and adding softly and almost inaudibly, "And I think I loved him." She rattled this statement offhandedly, as thought it were an afterthought that she had spoken as the idea were occurring simultaneously. An afterthought that had surprised and delighted her in some subtle, almost undetectable way. Audrey continued to stare down at her shoes as she scraped the toe of her sneaker against the scuffed wooden floor and maintained her perfect, pleasant silence.

"Does he have a big cock?"

Both Audrey and Nicole turned sharply toward Ray with bafflement in their eyes. Her blunt interjection had shattered Audrey's little reverie of bliss, and she now stared at Ray slackjawed, eyes huge as a deer in the headlights. Nicole punched her in the shoulder and glared at her with reprimanding eyes. "What?" Ray asked, victimized, "A girl's gotta know these things."

* * *

Jack awoke suddenly to the sound of a creaking floor and persistent swishing. He tried to open his eyes fully, but found them near swollen shut with sleep. He rubbed them harshly with the back of his hands and felt the aching in his joints from too little rest and being awake at that hour. Though his half closed eyes, he managed to make out the bright red glow of the alarm clock across the room. One thirty, it read. Something was moving across the room. Moving quickly and tirelessly though the glowing blue halo flashing on and off in the apartment from the neon sign of the bar next door. He looked at the bed beside him. All that remained next to him were wrinkles and the imprint of a warm body. He was naked and alone in a sea of sheets.

He rubbed his eyes thoroughly once more, and found them still clouded with sleep's haze. If he squinted just so, he could make out Audrey, moving quickly in front of her canvas – brush in hand and going at it madly. She was smoking, puffing away on a cigarette lodged between her lips. Smoke glowing blue gray in the neon light and encircling her head. Jack was utterly entranced by the energetic way that she conversed with her painting. He'd seen Spot go through the same process, but it seemed a far cry different with Audrey. Spot was intense in his crafting. When he was working, he was oblivious and immune to everything, as though he were under a spell and saw only the painting, his model, the brushes, the paint, and the beer bottle or cigarette beside him. Audrey was a great deal more poetic. It was a dance, and a brilliant one made magical in the light and haze of sleep, night, and her cigarette's smoke.

When she'd come the day before, she'd journeyed straight from school. He found her at his door carrying a large, sienna toned canvas and her paints, brushes stowed away in her bag and coated and pink-cheeked from the cold. Now, she stood at her canvas wearing only black underwear and one of his old t-shirts. His oversized socks on her feet, rolled at the ankles to keep them on. He was enamoured with her in that moment - completely taken with the beauty of her working and the charm of her wearing his clothes while she did so. At that moment, he was nearly certain that he wanted nothing more in the world than to be in that bed watching her paint. Nothing more than that, except, perhaps, wanting her to come back to bed after she was finished. There was not a thing else that mattered. Jack had been swallowed in her reckless, eccentric ways. But was it wrong to be swallowed whole? To disappear in her? To give her that priceless piece of giving up control? If asked that instant, he would have answered no without a moment's hesitation. No. Nothing had ever felt so right - so geode and soft in nature.

"_Dancing in the fogs, blue glints off her long dark hair. Doesn't she look good, standing in her underwear. And I've been thinking. I've been thinking. We've been drinking and it doesn't get me anywhere. _

_And then you bring me home."_

The lines occurred to Jack in a flash. He was surprised at his subconscious poetry and almost fully sat up in bed in amazement. He fumbled at the side of his bed for something upon which to jot the lines down so he may not forget. Audrey did not notice his rummaging, still too caught up in her own perfect, creative world to notice. His hand landed on a napkin and a sharpie first and he settled for those. The lines were taken down in his messy print and then shoved under his pillow for safe keeping and the assurance that they would certainly be found again there if they were misplaced or forgotten about. Then, satisfied, he pulled the covers up over his shoulders and let himself drift back off to sleep. When Audrey crawled back into bed beside him, he woke and immediately detected the scent she brought with her - she smelled of paint and turpentine. Turpenoid, she would have corrected him had she knew he was awake.

* * *

_Ring. _

_Ring. Ring_. RING.

A crackling, mechanical sounding recording of Raven's voice pierced the silence. "You have reached the chateau de la Ray and Audrey."

"We've decided that answering the phone is a waste of time," a second recording of Audrey chimed in.

"So, when the generic beep sounds off in your ear..."

"Speak...

"Or don't."

"We don't care," Audrey said offhandedly.

"Ready? One...two...three...."

"_BEEP."_

"Audrey, it's Jack. I need you to...I need you to listen to this. Just for a few minutes." There was the sound of footsteps quickstepping, and then a screeching scratch of a piece of furniture protesting as it was pulled over the floor. Jack could be heard clearing his throat. "Okay, here goes..." he called out to the phone's mouthpiece, which he had evidently sat near him, but was no longer to his mouth.

Suddenly, slow, soft piano music began to filter through the answering machine's crude speaker system. It lilted and slow-mounted into a haunting, jazzy melody. The tune grew louder and resonated through the small apartment. It carried on for about two full minutes. Each note perfectly in time and played almost effortlessly. Upon its ending, there was a bit of static and a loud rustling. Jack had picked up the phone once more. "It's My Funny Valentine if I was so bad that you couldn't tell. The Chet Baker version, of course. Remember you asked me if I could play it the other day? Well, I figured it out, and I wanted to show you. It's not original or anything, so I wouldn't consider it complete progress...but it's something. A start, I hope." With a click, he was gone. The answering machine rewound its small, newly filled tape, and its red light began to persistently flash.

Ray grinned in quiet satisfaction as the saw the light begin to blink. She had been standing in the doorway the entire time, holding a half full coffee mug whilst leaning against the casement and curiously listening to Jack play. She heard the door open and slam shut and the click of the deadbolt locking, and rolled her eyes. Audrey always insisted on locking that damn door, no matter if it were full daylight and she was set to depart in under a minute. If she were inside, she made certain that the door was locked. "Raaaaay!" she heard her friend call out. Her voice was accompanied by the sound of a bag full of school books being tossed to the ground and the plunk, plunk of each of Audrey's shoes coming off. Raven glanced over to see her hang up her coat on its appropriate hook, and then plod sock-footed into the kitchen.

When she emerged, Audrey saw Ray standing in the doorframe. She came up behind her and took a big bite of a goldeny-red apple. Noticing the blinking of the machine, Audrey, in between bites, asked, "Who was that?"

"Your boy," Ray said with a smirk and poked her in the side. She then crossed her arms over her chest and in a pleased voice added, "He's playing his piano. And he was dying to show you what he could play." Ray giggled...giggled in the mature, seductively wise way that only Mia Raven Tortulo could. "Oh, Audrey, this boy has got it bad for you, girly. What did you do to him?"

Audrey wrinkled her nose and shrugged. "Nothing," she said. "I did not do one blessed thing to that boy. He did it on his own." With that, she took another bite of her apple and turned to walk away. "I've got homework," she explained as she trudged into her room and closed the curtain behind her.

* * *

Audrey twisted the phone cord and paced around in a small restricted circle as she waited for the long rings to be interrupted by the click of the phone being picked up. She bit her bottom lip. She needed the phone to be answered before she lost her nerve. _Answer_, she told it. _Answer right now_. When that did not work, she tried to use the powers of her mind to will the other side to pick up. She was concentrating so hard that she almost did not hear the voice on the other end.

"Hello?"

April had apparently finally picked up on Audrey's sent brain waves and had finally answered her phone. Her voice was low and mumbly. She sounded more than a bit groggy, as though the phone call had woken her from a deep nap. Audrey looked over to the clock. Well, no. Not a nap. By that time, it was probably resembling more of a deep sleep. It was after, all, after midnight.

"Sorry to wake you," Audrey apologized sheepishly into the mouthpiece.

"Audrey?" April asked, "Oh, it's you." She yawned. "No, no. It's fine...just let me...." There was a fourteen second pause, mingled with a few soft groans and the creaking of bed springs before April returned with, "Okay, that's much better. Now, what can I do for you?"

"Well..." Audrey began, "April, do you, um, remember what we talked about the other day. Monday, I think it was...after class. I asked you about something and you told me that you could probably get something for me. That you knew some people who could could...you know. Get it. Well, I can't believe I'm asking you this, but um, can you? Get it, I mean....from them. If it's not too much trouble." Audrey bit her thumbnail and chewed around its cuticle as she awaited April's answer.

"Oh." April's voice had changed. Audrey mentally kicked herself. Hard. She knew she probably shouldn't have asked and was seconds away from withdrawing her request and apologizing profusely when April assuredly replied with, "Sure. Yeah, I'm sure I can. When?"

"Now?" Audrey squeaked, a little weakly. "If it's not too much trouble."

"No, no, no, no..." April assured her. "Just let me, um, make a few calls. Okay?"

"Okay."

With a click, April was gone and Audrey was left to wait until she got back to her. Audrey bit off the tip of her right thumbnail and spat it out. She made a few rounds of the room, picking up a few things here, arranging the contents of her desk, wiping the dust off of her windowsill. After she had finished, there was still no April. Audrey turned on the radio to mute the roaring silence that was waiting and the phone NOT ringing. She rummaged through her closet picking out an outfit for the next day, and then one for the day after. When the phone had still kept its silence, Audrey planned out her wardrobe for the rest of the week. She had to be ready when that phone rang. Ready to jump on it. Raven was sleeping in the next room and would be one hell of a shade of angry red if it woke her. She slept somewhat heavily, so Audrey calculated that she could endure one ring at least before she woke.

_Calm down Nellwyn_, she told herself. _Calm down and think...think, now, what would Audrey Hepburn do?_ She pondered this for a moment before shaking her head violently. _No. That's a stupid thing to consider. She's dead. What she would have done no longer holds any weight. Well, that's really not valid either – Gandhi's dead and he was a perfectly good example of what to and what not to do. Ha ha ha ha. You're fucking ridiculous, Audrey. Absolutely absurd._

With a deep sigh of frustration and anxiousness, she resolved to sit down at her desk and draw. It was something to keep her distracted and would double as productivity if only her hands would stop shaking. While she sat there and waited longer, she was able to make one very edgy sketch of nothing recognizable. While she was shading in the lower right portion, gripping the pencil hard and bearing it into the paper so that a dense, near black shade was produced, the phone suddenly rang and jolted Audrey. She jumped in her chair, and then, regaining her composure somewhat, shakily walked across the room to answer it before the previously sleeping Ray could. She answered the phone with a quiet "Hello?"

"It's done," April said on the other end. "I've got it lined up. But it being so late and all, it is okay if I retrieve it later and get it to you by tomorrow morning or something? I didn't get to bed till five this morning, and then I had a shift at ten thirty. So, naturally I'm beat."

"Yeah, that's fine. Tomorrow's fine," Audrey said while twisting the phone cord around her finger once more. Somehow, even though she needed what April had located, Audrey was somewhat relieved that she wouldn't be receiving it that night. For her, getting it had always been sort of a shaky and nerve wracking procedure/experience. However, all of that was easily forgotten when Audrey put the item to use. The results that it provided far outweighed the pain of attaining it. She cast a quick look over her shoulder at the painting and decided that now she would definitely be needing to go out for a carton of cigarettes or a good bottle of something liquor filled. "See ya April," Audrey muttered into the mouthpiece and placed the receiver back onto its cradle.

* * *

"_Audrey?" April said walking past the counter behind which the other girl stood.. "Bathroom."_

_Audrey had been filling glasses with iced tea. She nodded to April and placed the glasses down. Without hesistation, she shoved her hands into her pocket, and began to walk behind the other girl. Wordlessly Audrey followed her between tables and chairs to the back of the restaurant. Audrey was not a daft girl. She understood April's intentions and decided it best not to ask any questions, speak about it, or make any ado of it whatsoever. Best not to draw attention to it. Once inside the restroom, Audrey went immediately to a sink and began to wash her hands. April locked herself in a stall. Audrey heard the toilet flush and April walked out – a nonchalant waltz heading for the sinks. She slyly slipped her hand into her back pocket, and produced a small item which she kept hidden in the palm of her hand, her fingers clasped tightly around it. She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand and then, passing closely by Audrey, slipped the item into the other girl's sweatshirt pocket. She then, proceeded to wash her hands just as Audrey had done previously. Blowing a big pink bubbled as she lathered and rinsed. Without a word, April smiled at Audrey and then pushed the big swinging door open and walked back out into the restaurant as though nothing had happened._

_Audrey lingered behind a few moments. She locked herself in the nearest stall and leaned against the door to block it. She removed the package from her sweatshirt pocket and fingered it. Holding it up to the light, she gave it one good long look before taking a deep breath and firmly shoving it into the bottom of her deepest pants pocket and emerging from the stall to go back to work. When she pushed open the door to the bathroom, a draft of cold air hit her in the face and startled her a bit. It woke her up, and suddenly the weight of what had just she had just done became utterly real to her. Yet, Audrey chose to ignore it. Instead, she shrugged it over, and pushed any unpleasant thought to the back of her mind. She straightened her sweatshirt and marched decisively back to the bar._

"_Even when I'm awake, I'm dreaming of sleeping," the voice on the overhead PA system sang out from an alternative station one of the chefs had switched the radio to as Audrey made her way to the front of the restaurant.. " You are the ghost of an indecision."_

* * *

Raeghann: Chapter four was indeed a transitional chapter. (The fourth chapter always is for me for some reason. Oh, well, except for Moon's fourth. But that's not yet written and I'm not giving away any secrets.) My one shots do somewhat show up in my stories. I can't help it though – I have this dire need to have EVERYTHING connect. That, and I'm one of those people who splices 1 million things together into one final product. For instance, I think I sampled some Smashing Pumpkins somewhere in here. Not to mention the unknown Rent references. Rush is just a big splice. Oooh...you like sexual tension. Here is more...well...sexual things – I'm not sure about the tension. And ya know...I read all of Dream to Dream and typed out this huge long review for it, and DON'T KNOW WHERE I SAVED IT! Egad. I'm going to find it though. I WILL. 

LadyRach: They are bohemian, that's for sure. Except for Jack – who is bohemian somewhere under his tidy little journalist exterior. He just doesn't know it yet. Poor, sweet, oblivious Jack. (Also, they're bohemian because I unknowingly am somehow writing this as a Rent crossover. I just saw Rent about two weeks ago – long, long after this story was conceived and the first four chapters written. While watching it, I was astonished at the similarities between Rush and Rent. Argh – another – both four letter titles beginning with R. This is freaky.) Ray and Spot scenes are some of my favourite ones to write.

Oh – and a note from Ray to you (she just ALWAYS has to speak.): Aren't my shoes absolutely divine? I know I adore them too. I'm so proud of my ever growing collection. Oh yes, Spot and I are quite funny. smirk I've already got that boy twirled around my little finger.

Run: The italicized bits of information are essentially flashbacks, but as long as they're working in some form, I'm happy.


	6. such a rush

Chapter 6 - such a rush.

"_Art?" her father had said when Audrey first informed him of her intended major at the College of London. The tone of his voice was one of befuddlement, as though he could not possibly understand why anyone, much less his own bright, promising daughter would want to have anything to do with such a thing. "Are you....certain?" Malcolm Nellwyn asked his daughter._

_To this, Audrey had only nodded. She had known that she couldn't back down. Yet, approving or not, he was still her father, and she had been determined to still love and respect him. But oh, how she had wanted him to be welcome to the idea. How she had wanted his blessing. As her father gazed off into the distance thoughtfully, mulling the idea over in his mind and rolling the word around on his tongue once more as if it had a bad taste to it and he was trying to get used to it, Audrey had only looked down at the laces of her shoes. They were coming untied, and she hadn't bothered to take the time to tie them more securely. Her shoelaces, like her thoughts, she mused, had always seemed to be dangling due to lack of time invested in them. She was famed for that – jumping from one exciting thing to the next, but never really abandoning the first. And then, still hoping and trying against time and practicality to get everything finished. To preserve and maintain everything._

_Malcolm had been keen to this trait in his daughter. He looked at her with a softness and wisdom in his eyes that age and fatherhood had given to him. She was so hopeful, and so earnest. Poor dear, at the tender age of 17, she was committing her life to something so unsteady. Something insubstantial, he thought. Though, it didn't surprise him. She'd always had a knack for the creative and visual. She'd gotten it from her mother. Little Audrey Jane at the age of four had drawn quite a lovely mess on her bedroom walls with crayon. The love of it had been bred into her. But how long would it be before she tired of it and moved along to the next thing? Perhaps he wasn't giving her enough credit. Perhaps this would be the time she would follow through. "You say this is a full paid scholarship?" he had asked her after a ten minute deliberation._

"_Yes. Fully paid," Audrey had been quick to assure. _

"_In London?"_

"_Yes."_

"_So, this means you'll need a housing arrangements – a dorm. And other expenses. Is the scholarship money going to pay for those also?"_

"_Well," Audrey had begun. She'd read the letter they'd sent only moments before approaching him, and yet, under his eye and questioning, the pressure of answering correctly and selling him on the idea had wiped almost all trace of what she had read from her memory. "The housing is paid for by the scholarship, yes. I'll have a dorm room. And as far as other expenses, I scored high enough on my standardized placement tests to get a student job on campus. If that proves to not be enough, I could always get a small part time job. I've worked before, Da. I'm used to it. It's not going to kill me to work."_

_Once more, the earnestness coated her voice, informing her father of just how badly she must have wanted it and slaying him at the same time. Yet, he still had one more avenue to explore before relenting and admitting defeat. "And what about physics? I thought you were going to read in that. You were all set, and the local chapter of the Physics and Engineering Society was awarding you a lot of money to go into that field."_

"_It's an equal amount.. I checked."_

"_Oh." Malcolm Nellwyn had then folded his newspaper into a neat rectangle and placed it onto his lap. He took another thoughtful puff on his pipe and then said, "Well, love, if you're so certain that this is what you wanted to do, then who am I to stand in your way?" He gave Audrey a warm smile and patted her knee. "We'll talk more about this in the morning. Go to bed now, it's late." Audrey nodded to him, and somehow contained her immediate thrill at his easy agreement. She had been certain that he would be her hardest sell. She knew very well that her father was not the pushover type. He was firm and methodical, and she realized that a simple, "Da, I want to do this" would not have sufficed. After her father had left the room, Audrey leapt up from her chair, and excited hugged herself in celebration of her victory. Filled with renewed hope and vigor, she brushed off her father's advice to go to sleep, and instead walked out to the little shed behind their small house. It was padlocked and she opened the door with a little key she wore on a chain around her neck. Yes, everything was going to work itself out. Everything was going to be alright, and she, Audrey Nellwyn, was going to start a new painting that night that would be a tour de force in the her early painting portfolio. _

_Even then, she'd been supported. While her father had never been certain that she was doing the correct thing for her future, he'd trusted her and continued to faithfully believe that she would succeed. These days, Audrey herself couldn't be so sure._

Audrey had been painting for what seemed like at least seven hours, but was really four, when she finally decided to call it quits. It wasn't because she wanted to. No, she was bound and determined to make that Monday night exclusively "painting night." With final project time drawing ever closer by the day, each step closer to a finished painting counted, and counted immensely. Every brushstroke helped, and Audrey knew this. Yet, after hours of cigarettes dangling from her mouth as she slammed paint brushes down and fiddled with paint clumsily, she plucked her last cigarette from her mouth and angrily snuffed it out in the already full ashtray. Taking her head in her hands, she sighed deeply and scratched her head. What the hell was she going to do? What the hell was she going to fucking do?

She was going to take a break, that's what she was going to do, she decided. Just take a break and breathe. Slipping on hersweatshirt and gloves, she trod into the kitchen and retrieved an apple. As she walked back to her room, she took a large crunching bite from it. She fumbled around in the drawer with the hand that was not holding the apple, pushing things aside as she looked questioningly inwards. As she shoved things out of the way and dug to the bottom, each moment that went by added a degree more confusion to her befuddled expression. Finally, her fingers found what they were looking for. She slipped the found object into her pocket and grabbed her lucky Zippo lighter before opening the window and climbing out onto the fire escape.

Audrey plopped down onto the cold metal, pulling her woolen coat more tightly around her flannel pajama bottoms and sweater top. It was abso-bloody-lutely cold outside, and she knew quite well just how out of one's mind person would have to be to consider, much less insist upon sitting outside on a cold metal platform three stories up on a winter's night in New York. Audrey smiled slightly. She'd never refuted being called out of her mind. She knew too well that she really was. Leaning her head back against the coarse brick, she closed her eyes and took another big bite from the apple in her black gloved hand. She munched on it thoughtfully and wondered just exactly how exactly a girl like her had ended up in a place like the East Village of New York City. It was amazing really, she thought. For Audrey Nellwyn had been a shy, afraid child who'd grown into a shy, afraid woman. The only difference was her height and education. In her mind she repeated the mantra she'd adopted on the plane ride over from England that first fateful day. "Yes, that's right," Audrey told herself firmly with another bite. Her mouth full of apple, she added, "I have to keep reminding myself it is only a place and places do not swallow you whole. They simply exist and open themselves up so that you can wander their streets and live within their houses." Almost as if to punctuate her sentence with irony, Audrey heard a loud crash, coupled with glass shattering and a car alarm's shrill siren piercing the air from somewhere down in the streets below.

"Places do not swallow you whole," she repeated. A pungent smell rose up into the air and filled Audrey's nostrils. She cringed. Must be from the sewer. The sewer must have backed up in the night. Jack was out playing cards with his friends. Or something like that, Audrey thought. She wasn't sure. He mentioned it once and she'd been distracted at the time and not interested enough to ask. She trusted Jack though that he was doing something completely innocent and honorable. Jack was very trustworthy. She liked that about him. Liked it in ways she could not explain.

As she daydreamed about Jack and his endearing charms, her window slid open more and a head poked out and looked around. "A-ha!" the head said triumphantly. "Found you." Audrey turned her attention to the window and watched as the head disappeared and was replaced by a stiletto boot. The boot was placed firmly on the grate of the platform, and out of it the window Ray crawled.

"Back so soon?" Audrey asked, her eyes staring out onto the building across the street.

Ray looked at the place on her arm where a watch would have been, had she been wearing one. "Am I?" she asked lightly.

"Yes," was the answer. "It's only eleven o'clock."

"Oh, I hadn't noticed." Ray sidestepped along the platform and sat down next to Audrey. She pulled her coat tightly around her and shivered. "It's cold out here. You freak. Sitting out here in the cold." Raven glimpsed Audrey's preoccupation with chewing and remarked, "Another apple. You've been eating a hell of a lot of those lately."

Audrey shrugged in response. "Yeah."

"Oh. Red delicious?"

Audrey wrinkled her nose. "You mean, Red Disgusting? No. I don't eat those. Besides, the colour of them offends my eye."

The two made quite a contrasting pair. Audrey hunched over and knees pulled to her chest – a veritable human ball in her thick paint-marred hooded sweatshirt, plaid bottoms, slippers and hair messily pulled back sat next to polished Raven, in her black leather Gucci coat, knee high boots, and diamond earrings. She'd obviously been home a few minutes before she sought out her friends, because she'd put on her glasses for the night. Otherwise, Raven looked her usual: chic and untouched to say she'd already been through a day and a night out. Audrey looked over to Ray and noticed something unusual about her appearance. "You're wearing your glasses?" she asked, forehead wrinkled. "That's strange. I didn't know you wore glasses. I mean...I'd seen them in your room, but I thought maybe you'd grown out of needing them or they were for show cause I'd never seen you with them on."

"Nope. I wear glasses. They're my 'see far away' glasses, and I had to put them on tonight because my contacts were hurting like a mother fucker," Ray said directly. After a pause, she added, "But don't tell anyone that I do, alright?"

"Agreed," promised Audrey. She bit off the last bit of flesh from her fruit and while chewing on the bite, tossed the apple core over the ledge and onto whatever was below. Reaching into the pocket of her coat, she produced a small baggie and showed it to Ray. "I picked this up from one of April's friends," she said in an amused tone. "Rolled them myself this afternoon. What do you say, Ray Ray? You wanna get high as a bloody kite?"

Raven rolled her eyes orgasmically. "Oh, hell yes." She grinned and bit her bottom lip excitedly as her mind rolled over the thought once more. "God I was hoping someone would ask, because for some reason I've been craving. I think it's just leftover longing for my high school days. Ha! I used to smoke up behind the school with Johnny Grisham. Yeah...those were good times." She paused as the nostalgia washed and waved over her face. "He was a good lay," she added.

Audrey struck her lighter aflame and held it to the end of the blunt, sucking the fire inside of it until it ignited. She inhaled the smoke, and let it course down her throat. Her voice was light and strained, clouded by smoke when she said, "High school boys usually are," and handed the joint to Ray. "They're so eager to please. Except the grabby ones who are just impossible."

Raven laughed at her friend's cool truth and accepted the roll eagerly. As she puffed away on it, she tilted her head upwards and blew fabulously illegal smoke rings into the night sky's chill. "I've got to tell you, Audrey," she said, "You are the very last person I would have expected to bum weed off of. What in hell are you doing with this?"

"I don't know," Audrey said, her chin resting on her drawn in knees. "I...uh....well....getting high....it helps me." She shrugged and took the joint that Ray was holding out to her. Taking a pull from it, she added in a choked voice, "Paint, I think. It helps me. Paint." She grew quiet for some time, a gleaming shade of distant waxing in her eyes. "Ray," she said introspectively, "Do you think that we're so drawn to each other because we're both motherless children?"

"I don't know," Ray answered in a smoky voice. "I guess it's possible. I hadn't thought much about it, but I suppose it could be that."

"Mmm. You're better about it than I. I mean, better about being motherless. You're so strong and unaffected that no one would ever notice if you didn't tell them. With me, I'm afraid it's written all over my face. I'm weaker than you are. More of a mess. I envy you for that though...for being so fearless and cool. So free to do whatever you want without a second thought to, well...anything." Audrey held the joint between her fingers and let it burn and smolder without bothering to take another draw from it. If she was anything, Audrey was a philosophical, introspective stoner. After her first few hits, she was bored of it and surrendered to her mind's altered and freer roaming.

"Oh, pshaw." Ray traced a shape in the sky, connecting the stars above her into a wobbly heart. She giggled and then clapped her hand over her mouth. With a gleeful look dancing in her eye, she said, "Oh. Look at me. I just said 'pshaw.' That's some potent stuff you've got there." She noticed Audrey holding the "potent stuff" inactively. "You want any more of that?" she asked.

"No, I'm set," Audrey answered with a wave of her hand. She held the lighted stick out to her flat made in offering. "Here. You want the rest?"

"Don't mind if I do," was the answer. Upon receiving, Ray took another long, forceful drag from the joint and blew out an equally long trail of smoke from her painted lips. "Audrey?" she asked, resting her head against the brick of the six five story building. Inside, someone and a closed a door rather severely because the fire escape the two shared rattled beneath them, but neither took notice. "Do you ever think about kissing girls?"

Audrey wrinkled he nose and shook her head in dissent. "Um, no," she said. "What made you think of this?"

Raven shrugged. "Aw, you're such a prude. Lute's been getting to you, I see With her Republican conservatism. It's catching, I know And it caught you. I would, I think. If the girl was hot."

"Okay, Ray..."

"What's wrong with that? Like your friend Kylie from school. The blonde chick that we ran into at Perks. I think I'd kiss her if it were just a one time thing."

"Oh yeah?" countered Audrey. "What about Spot?"

"I don't think he'd care. In fact, now that I thin about it, I think he'd probably like it actually. Besides, she's hot."

"Yeah, she is rather pretty."

The silence between the friends mounted once more. Raven busied herself with braiding a strand of her hair and Audrey stared into the infinite cityscape intently. She let her eyes roll in and out of focus, blurring the lights of the city that never slept into a patterned swirl of melted fluorescents. Time stood still, yet sped up and passed with the confident air that only a city could have produced.

"Oh," Ray interjected with a thrusted point of finger into Audrey's line of sight. The beautiful display of broken lights fizzled back into sharp toned reality, disappointing Audrey. "My friend thinks you're hot," Ray continued in a casual voice. When Audrey's eyes widened and she pursed her lips to object, Ray quickly added, "But he's gay. So don't worry. He was in that play. You remember that play...that one I was in a while back. Hmm...can't seem to remember the name of it. Ha. I'm sooo stoned. Anyway, I met him at that first audition that I fucked up...and then he was at the next one, too. So, we're doing this new play now – oh, I got a job. Did I tell you that? Because I did. Uh huh, I did. A new role, but it's nothing big. I mean, my role is semi-big. It's almost a lead. But the play itself isn't going to be big. What was I telling you? Hmm..." Ray stared off into the distance and sucked a bit on the joint as she thought. "Oh! I remember!" she said finally. "I was telling you that Ricky thinks you're hot stuff. Ricardo Jones...isn't that such a gay name. It suits him. I wonder if his mother really named him something like that. Hell, what am I talking about? Mine named me Mia Raven. He hasn't been at rehearsal lately. I think he's sick or something. Like no, really sick. Probably got AIDS or something."

"Half of New York has AIDS," Audrey mumbled in monotone. Her treasured pleasantly numb feeling was waning. She felt her coat pocket for the small, yet comforting lump of a second joint.

"No," Ray corrected her with a definitive shake of her head. "Everyone's got AIDS. Face it, girly - In this city, having it is as trendy as sherpa boots and tongue rings." Another five minutes of silence hung in the air. Ray cast a sidelong glance to Audrey. Taking note of her bent head and downcast eyes, she scowled. "Hey," she said, "Dumb and glum, what's the matter with you?" When Audrey's only answer was only a sort, muffled sarcastic laugh, Raven promptly leaned over and bestowed upon her a short left jab to the forearm. "Cheeeeeer up, chum," she said in a enthusiastic voice coupled with a wide smile. "Ooh...look at me! I made a rhyme. Glum. Dumb. Chum. Glum, dumb, chum!" Ray clapped her hands in glee and then rested her head back against the bricks once more. "I am sooooo hungry."

Audrey instinctively cradled her arm, rubbing the spot where she was certain a lovely purple and blue bruise would appear. Her mouth hung open, slightly stunned. When She finally got over the initial shock and found words, yelled, "RAY! What the hell is bloody wrong with you? Oww. You fucking punched me in the arm. Why?"

Ray shrugged in response. Though Audrey glared at her with malice in her eyes, Ray was completely unphased by her friend's vengeful stare. The stupid smile of carefree, fuzzy contentment remained plastered across her face as she rubbed her stomach. "You're so moody," she told Audrey and then, clumsily rose to a full stand. Dusting er hands off, she announced, "I'm hungry. I'm gonna get something to eat. You want?"

"Go to hell," Audrey answered, still wincing and nursing her wound.

"I guess that means no," she said brightly. "Oh well. That's fine. More for me!" Ray stuck one boot through the window's opening and proceeded to climb through.

As she did, Audrey called out after her, "There's nothing to eat in there!"

"Then I'll just go out and get something, silly Audrey," Ray returned in a singsong voice. "Now, where are my boots?"

"You do that," Audrey mumbled in reply. She waited a while and stared out at the lights of the city, letting her eyes shift in and out of focus. The streetlights and lit windows blurring and fading into one bright haze and then back to distinct circles of separate light. When Audrey heard the door slam shut, she finished into her pocket and produced the second joint and her clover emblazoned Zippo. With her lucky lighter, she lit the roll and brought it to lips. She then commenced the selfish enjoyment of its mind altering effects.

.ooooooooo.

Audrey stood patiently at the bar and examined herself in the tarnishing mirror behind the countless liquor bottles. She'd been waiting for a good, solid five minutes. But the sole bartender looked pitifully swamped and she wasn't Ray, so she politely waited her turn. Her father would have been proud. As she waited she picked at the peeling paint that lined the bar's edges and swayed gently in time with the wailing guitars of Cat Eye Blue blasting from the speakers on stage. The floor felt sticky under her feet. Just as it should have, she thought. Audrey did not want to know what the sticky grime was that covered the floor underfoot, and she was thankful for the darkness and the intensely thick cloud of smoke that impaired her vision for she would have surely investigated if it were possible. "That's what you get for going to a dirty bar," she told herself and then smile and rolled her eyes at herself. In truth, she didn't actually mind spending her night in a dark, dirty pub. She'd grown accustomed to it having frequented so many in her younger days. Her groupie days, she mused to herself.

When her turn finally came, the bartender walked over to her, drying his hands on an already quite damp towel and took her order with a nod of his head. "Hi. Can I have a Miller Lite, a Rolling Rock, a rum and coke and a – ha, get this, a martini?" Much to her surprise and relief, the barkeep looked unaffected by her order. As she paid him in a bent five and wadded up ones, she mumbled, "God, Ray. Only you would order a martini in a grunge pub."

When the bartender returned with her four drinks, he eyed her suspiciously and asked, "Are you sure you're going to be able to carry all that?"

Audrey snickered and shook her head. Eyes wide, brows arched, and bent on showing him up, she assured him that she could. "Ha, ha, ha. Such little faith. You just watch me. I'm the finest waitress in lower Manhattan." With that, she took both beers under one arm, her own glass in the hand of the same arm, and Ray's martini she held delicately in her right hand. She shot the bartender a coy grin of victory and waltzed away carrying the four drinks unfalteringly. When she came up on the post her party had taken residence at, she approached unnoticed. Ray had her arms draped around Spot as she normally did. Spot, seeming devilish as ever, was excitedly talking about something which Jack looked uneasy to hear. She hung back a minute before making herself known to listen in to the rest of Spot's statement. "Knew she was a fun one," Audrey heard him say. She waited until the end of "Why'd you dump her" to make her entrance. She slid easily into the middle of the circle and handed Spot his beer bottle. "Why'd you dump who?" she asked blithely. She delivered the martini to Ray's eager, outstretched hand and gave her an apologetic look as she said, "Sorry, it's in a Styrofoam cup. I don't think it's fucked up very badly otherwise. At least, it looks as though he didn't." Audrey gazed expectantly toward Jack and saw his cheeks colour slightly.

"Uh, no one and nothing," he mumbled, quickly taking a swig of his beer in hopes to avoid further questioning.

"What a bad liar!" Ray cut in. She took a tentative sip from her cup and then her face twisted into a strong cringe. "Ugh," she said. "God, they can't even make it dry enough. Blasphemy!"

Audrey turned her attention away from Jack long enough to shoot her flat mate an incredulous stare. "It's a pub," she cried, "a dirty pub. I'm frankly surprised the barkeep even knew what it was." She shook her head and then returned to Jack. "No. Spot said she was fun...I caught at least that much when I was walking up. Spot doesn't say that about anyone, especially a girl that you dated. I doubt she was nobody." Out of the corner of her eye, Audrey could barely make out Spot's figure leaning back casually against the post and lifting his bottle to his mouth. She couldn't decipher his face – it was too far out of her peripheral vision and the air was much too smoke ridden to make out a proper picture – but she was certain that he was smiling smugly and awaiting some kind of fireworks display. Audrey, however, was determined not to give him anything he expected. Therefore, she smiled sweetly at Jack, as though nothing was wrong. In actuality, she knew that nothing was wrong. Yes, she was sure it was only the newest shit Spot had cooked up to get under her skin.

Jack pulled at the collar of his shirt and then shrugged. "It's just some girl I dated a while back. No big deal."

From behind her, Audrey could hear Ray squawk, "So what? Every bartender should know how to make a fucking martini!" Audrey rolled her eyes and decided to not respond, for her retort would only be painted with annoyance. She was almost over her boyfriend's ex girlfriend and ready to move on to the next subject when Spot called out, "No big deal?!? You two screwed every day for a solid two months. Sometimes twice a day!" Her immediate thoughts were not pleasant, for imagining one's other comfortably rolling about between the sheets with another girl never is. However, she quickly put the nasty mental pictures out of her mind and decided to play off an uneasy feeling she might have been harbouring with a coy smile. She arched her left eyebrow, and in a teasing tone said, "Mmm...so the truth comes out."

"Yeah. Okay. FINE!" Jack said, directing his statement less to Audrey and more over her right shoulder, toward Spot. He returned his eyes to her and sighed. Loud enough for Spot to still hear, yet voiced soft enough to consider Audrey's feelings, he continued. "It was good sex. I'll admit that. But it wasn't anything meaningful or substantial. And it ended as it should have. I'm not with her now, am I? That's all that matters." He took another heavy swallow of his drink. "Are you trying to cause trouble?" Audrey overheard her friend hiss to Spot. She didn't see it, but she had a strong feeling that a hard nudge or slap of some kind accompanied the hissed reprimand.

Therefore, with a shrug of her shoulders and a wave of her hand, she put Jack's two-monther out of her head and simultaneously eased his mounting tension over the ordeal. She saw his shoulders droop slightly and his head tilt to the side. She indulged in what her cup had to offer her and mouthed a kiss toward Jack before turning her attention to her martini sipping friend. "Ray, love, did you buy those shoes you were telling me about?"

"Of course, I did. Why wouldn't I?" Ray mused, waving her white Styrofoam cup around as though it were a true, slinky martini glass. At that time, the band onstage slipped into a catchy, upbeat number. Audrey regarded it with captive interest for a few seconds before latching onto Ray's arm and with a quick and almost unintelligible "Dance with me!" she dragged Ray, martini and all, towards the mass that had gathered near the speakers.

Jack breathed a sigh of relief once the two were gone. He scratched the back of his neck and sat his beer down on the floor at his feet so that he could freely fish around in his pocket for a cigarette. When his fingers ran over the familiar sized box stashed away on the inside of his coat, he pulled it out and tapped the box twice on his palm. Cigarette retrieved from it, he held it between his lips and held his lighter's flame to it. Nonchalantly, Spot eased over to him, rubbing his side. "Ow. Fuck," he said, continuing to massage his ribcage. "That girl's got one hell of an elbow on her. I can't win."

"What the hell were you doing?" Jack mumbled, the cigarette balanced lightly between his teeth impairing his speech. "Huh? What the hell was that? Bringing up Mallory Sedgewick when Audrey was standing right there. You're an asshole, Spot. A real asshole." Jack removed the cigarette from his mouth and jabbed Spot in the arm with an accusing index finger.

"I'm not an asshole, Jacky-boy," Spot said in defense of himself. "Sides, what should she care?" He pointed toward Audrey, holding hands with Ray as they slowly merged into the crowd in the middle of the floor when he lit upon the word "she." "Or you for that matter?"

"Ha!" Jack snorted. He removed the cigarette from his mouth and began using it as a small baton with which punctuate his statements. "Because she's my fucking girlfriend, and she has feelings. Feelings that I don't take kindly to hurting. Do I fucking talk about Jo in front of Ray? Do you for that matter? No. You just don't do that!"

Spot scoffed and pointed at the lit cig in Jack's hand. "Gimme one of those." Jack fished around in his pocket again and produced one, which he shoved into Spot's hand. Spot placed it between his lips, lit it, and then took a pensive drag from it. "Well, you said it yourself, Jack – She's your girlfriend. Not Mallory. Exactly why me talking about something long gone should not be a huge problem." In a manner similar to Raven's, yet with not quite the force, he elbowed Jack in the arm. "What's the matter with you tonight, anyway? You're usually not so touchy."

"I'm not touchy," Jack spat back. He took another sip of his beer. "Besides Ray would kill you for the mere mention of Jo's name in her presence, you know it. So I don't wanna hear nothing more about it."

Spot laugh loudly and removed his cap from his head to run his hands through his hair. Placing the gray cap back atop his head, his eyes were still lit with amusement. "Excuse me, Jack. But I think that fucking Two Month Mallory is a weeeeee bit different from what me and Josephine had."

"Oh? How so? You're not with Jo now, are you? Same difference."

Spot gave Jack a knowing look and took a full two swigs from his green beer bottle. He then cleared his throat as though he were making an announcement – a formal proclamation of sorts. "Ha," he started, "Miss Josephine August. A solid three year relationship, complete with a marvelously delightful little promise ring and other such accomidations. Yes – Jo. The same girl who singlehandedly, I might add, built, changed, and then tore down my entire world. The experience from which I am still recovering, and not quickly recovering, mind you. Versus...Mallory Sedgewick. Pretty to look at. Two month lay. End. Over. You see what I'm talking about? The comparisons just don't match up, do they Jacky-boy?"

"Yeah, yeah," responded Jack.

Much contrary Jack and Spot's knowledge, Audrey was leading Ray through the stagefront floor moreso than to it. Holding tightly to her hand, Audrey led her high-heeled friend through an intricate maze of bodies and broken beer bottles to the opposite side of The Spanish Moon. Ray was quite surprised when she arrived farther from the stage than when she had begun. "Where did you lead me?" Ray asked when the two stopped near the entrances of the restrooms, far away from the promised crowd and most of the noise.

"I don't want to dance. I lied," Audrey told her, biting her bottom lip. "I need a pick me up." She padded the inside of her waistband. "You want?"

"God, more weed Audrey? You pothead," Raven teased with a grin, but shook off the offer. "Nah, no thanks. Vodka is my weapon of choice tonight. Smoking up and drinking never did mix well with me. So, unless you've got a strange desire to see me vomit my intestines up, keep that shit away from me."

"Your loss," said Audrey with a lopsided smile and a one shouldered shrug. She pointed over her shoulder toward the entrance of the women's bathroom. "I'm gonna go in there. It's much more, um, discreet I guess. Besides, all the other potheads are probably in there lighting up so I'll blend in like that." She snapped her fingers at "that," and then turned toward the restrooms.

"Alright. I'm gonna head back, I guess. Don't stay in there too long. I don't want to have to march back over here to find your ass."

"Okay," Audrey answered. "Just don't tell Jack!" she called out behind her as she pushed through the bathroom's swinging doors.

Ray watched her disappear into the bathroom and began to feel small pangs of guilt for letting her go in there alone. She was older and therefore, wiser, she thought, and warranted or not, Raven felt as though she were somewhat responsible for the girl's safety and well being. She took a taste of her martini into her mouth and swished it around, contemplatively. Swallowing it, she decided that Audrey was quite old enough to mind herself and that she didn't need or want someone to watch over her. That decided, she turned on her Jimmy Choo-ed heel and began to pick her way back through the throngs of head-bobbing twentysomethings. When she arrived back to Jack and Spot, she murmured an "hola" to the both of them and slipped her hands into Spot's back pockets seductively. Both men whipped their heads around in her direction, surprised to see her and even more surprised to see her alone.

"Ray," Spot crooned, "We were just talking about you, doll. Where'd you put the Audrey?" He looked around her and then turned to his friend. "Jack, it seems you've lost your girl."

Ray felt a pair of gray-blue eyes and a pair of brown ones turn to her expectantly. She felt pressured to come up with a sound answer. But Raven Tortulo was never one to crack under pressure. Therefore, she licked her bottom lip and put on her most nonchalant smile and said, "Oh, she's still out there. She saw someone she knew, and well, frankly, I didn't feel like standing there looking dumb while she talked. So, I just came back." Inwardly, she cringed, yet did not let a trace of it show on the outside. It was a lie, and Ray hated to lie. But she considered a lie that protected two of her friends, and very possibly herself, to be a necessary lie. However, before anyone could possibly even hint at questioning the answer she had given, she hastily switched gears over to a new line of conversation. "So," she cooed, more into Spot's ear, but loud enough that Jack could hear it perfectly, "What were you saying about me? How amazing I am? Gorgeous, even?" She lowered her voice beyond Jack's range of listening, and continued. "How about how good I am in bed? That thing I do with my tongue?" Ray, confident of the potency of her drawling voice and daring words, could tell that her last comment had gotten to her boyfriend because he sniffled loudly and shifted his feet three times.

"Um," he suddenly spoke up, his voice wavering perceptibly. "Jack, your girl's still missing. Shouldn't you be concerned about finding her? Maybe she's run off with someone else." The last statement he rattled off was almost immediately regretted and Spot exhibited his second thoughts about it by averting his attention to his beer instead of looking into Jack's eyes.

"I'm sure she's fine. I'm not worried about her. She's not going to run off with anyone. I trust her. That's what I do. I trust," Jack returned. He bit of the ragged edge of his right thumbnail and spat it onto the floor. Though he wouldn't admit it openly, Spot's words had cut through Jack and sliced open his thick skin to reveal an inch of vulnerability. Just where was Audrey, and what was she doing? He glanced around the room, taking in the multitudes of guys there who were better looking than he was, better attired than he was, richer than he was, and generally more appealing than he was. Should he go and look for her? Perhaps something had happened. Maybe she was being harassed by some drunken fraternity boy and was at that moment, wishing with all her might that he would come and rescue her. There was an angel and a devil on his shoulder. One told him to trust and leave her be, whatever she was doing. The other tugged on his heart more strongly and bid him to conduct a massive search for her and reclaim her to his side. He was in the midst of deciding which would be best and more correct in the long run when hear a low, sweet, and decidedly English voice say to him from behind, "Hey partyboy." He whirled around to see the object of his affection standing behind him, safe and smiling coyly at him in her usual manner. She stepped forward and scratched his stomach lightly. Jack snaked his arm around her waist and let it rest on her hip, pulling her in closely to his side. "Hey, baby," he said comfortably. He breathed a sigh of relief and warm contentment when she let her head rest against his chest.

"Did you miss me?" she asked, her voice rather slow – almost as though she were waking up from a full night's worth of sleep.

Jack attributed her strange inflection to her fatigue after another long day of school and work and therefore, thought no more of it. "Of course I missed you," he assured her and supported his claim with a lingering kiss on her forehead. "I was getting a bit worried about you though. I was scared you'd been kidnapped by some crazed Skittery fangirl or worse." To his worries, she only laughed casually and shook her head as though it were the silliest, yet most endearing thing she had ever heard. Audrey turned to face him, her arms looping about his waist loosely. Over the loudspeaker, Jack heard Cat Eye Blue's singer announce that the band was going on break. A shrill swirl of tinkling electric guitar flooded the room as a familiar prerecorded sound began to play in the band's place.

Audrey began to swerve her hips fluidly in time with the hypnotic beats, gazing softly into Jack's eyes as she did so. At first Jack only watched her with curious interest, pulling drags off of his cigarette and running this thumb along the rim of his mostly emptied bottle. He slipped his hand down her back and let it come to rest on its small. He sucked another mouthful of smoke and nicotine in and was just about to filter it outward when he felt Audrey take his face in her hands and pull it downward toward her. Her mouth met his and opened. Jack's taut lips loosened and he released the smoke into her mouth, secondhand. She took it in and then with a dreamlike expression on her face and the strobe lights reflecting in her dark eyes, blew it upward so that it clouded both of their heads. Soon, Jack found himself swaying along with her to the music. She took one hand from his waist and ran it through his hair, slightly disheveling it, and rested it on the back of his neck, her fingernails tracing light circles in the short hairs recovering from his month old haircut.

Jack brought his head down to hers, and let their foreheads touch. A lock of his hair fell downward and brushed along her temple, but she didn't bother to remove it. Instead, she slid her head slightly upward and then down, letting the bridge of her nose graze against his in a seductive Eskimo-like kiss. Her right hand, still at his waist, had worked its way under his coat and both of his shirts. She ran her finger along his back, just where the waistband of his jeans would have laid if not for her hand's presence. He could feel her hot breath on his neck. It smelled of rum and her strawberry lipgloss. With his free hand, he tipped her chin up and entreated her parted lips to draw nearer to his own. When they did not move toward him of her own will, he bent down to her in pursuit of the kiss he craved. But she did not surrender to him, and instead turned her head a few degrees to the side just as he was diving in for the kill. Discontented, yet willing to let her refusal slide, he settled for running his thumb over her soft bottom lip and calling her a tease.

"That I am," she responded in a smug, yet unknowingly smoldering voice that made him want to kiss her even more and even harder than he had set out to before. She lifted the corners of her mouth upward into a perfect grin that completely disarmed him. He pulled her tighter and grazed his lips over her cheekbone, stopping to let them linger and rest momentarily once or twice. He could feel the flutter of her lashes against his own skin and closed own eyes, letting the warmth of her body and the way she felt against him absorb into his long term memory. As the music spun into its cataclysmic crescendo, nothing else existed except the rhythm of their two bodies moving in perfect synchronization. Their chests rising and falling with shallow breaths and sighs. Gathering his gusto once more, Jack leaned over and attempted to have her lips accept his advancements. Instead of being welcoming or alluringly unwilling, Jack was instead met by stark avoidance. She withdrew her head, sharply drawing it backwards and away from him. She coughed and then backed out of his arms with one retreating step. "I've got to go to the ladies room," was all the explanation she offhandedly offered to him before once more disappearing into the crowd.

Jack stood frozen in his bent position, stunned by her strange and abrupt behaviour. He looked to Ray for some sort of womanly interpretation of Audrey's mood swing, but she was lost in Spot's mouth and unavailable to Jack. Not knowing what he should do, say, or even think, he threw up his hands and chugged the rest of his beer. After the bottle was emptied, he excused himself from Spot and Ray's company and waltzed over to the bar. Slamming the empty bottle on the counter, he gestured to the bartender and ordered another.

Audrey reached her destination as quickly as her feet could carry her without appearing suspicious. She pushed through the door of the bathroom and felt the cool rush of air conditioner and quieted nose filter around her. She was more than grateful for it. Stopping in front of a mirror and leaning over the sink, she looked at her reflection. It stared back at her, hollow eyed and pale. It was ghastly to her eyes, and she cringed at her own appearance. She cringed in disgust of her face and the dizzy nauseated wave that crashed down upon her once more. Audrey let her head drop and she stared at the dingy white of the sink below. Turning on the faucet, she wet her hands under its cold stream of water and then washed them thoroughly with soap. After rinsing them, she shook off most of the water and then used the few remaining drops to dampen her neck and forehead. Sighing, Audrey ran a hand through her own hair, seeking to somewhat mold it into shape and make herself appear less of an unpresentable mess. Another dizzy spell shot through her head and down into her stomach and she gripped the sink's edge for support. In her efforts to chase it away, she rubbed her eyes and unintentionally smudged her eyeliner, marring her appearance once more. She chided herself for doing so and attempted to clean around the edges of her now raccoon-like eyes. Cleaned up and looking halfway decent, she took two gulps of water from the sink and composed herself before walking out the door and across the building to Jack. Upon reaching him, she let her guard down briefly and her face twisted into a pained expression.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked. His voice mostly showed concern, yet Audrey also detected in it a hint of questioning bitterness for leaving him hanging only moments previous.

"I...uh," she stumbled over her words. "I'm not feeling very well. Would you mind terribly if we left?"

"No, no, that's fine," he reassured her. With a quick glance to Raven and Spot, still engaged in exploring each other's tongues and tonsils, he pointed in their direction and added, "I don't think they'll mind if we cut out early. Come on." He took her hand in his, his long fingers and wide palm enveloping hers was a great comfort to her and she started to feel better just by his slight gesture. On their way to the door, they passed by their two entangled friends. Jack tapped Ray on the shoulder and shouted to her over the wailing guitars that they were leaving. Ray only managed a wave of her hand. And with that, the two exited The Spanish Moon. When they were gone, Spot broke his seemingly perpetual kiss with Ray and drew back his head to ask, "What's wrong with them?"

Ray gave him a sly look and said, "Okay. Promise you won't say anything?" Spot nodded in response. "When we left a while back, she smoked up in the bathroom before she came back. But don't tell Jack!" Raven pointed a red fingernail at Spot's nose to punctuate her statement, and then giggled. "Don't tell Jack," she repeated.

Spot laughed and showed her the three fingers representative of "scout's honor." He scratched the side of his face contemplatively. "Hmmm...so the British Witch isn't perfect. That's a comforting thought."

Jack and Audrey stepped outside and were immediately befriended by the cool night air. "You wanna walk or take a cab?" Jack asked.

"We can walk," she told him. "The cool air makes me feel a bit better."

"Alright," was his answer as he smiled and led her away from the bar. "So where's the rest of your gang?"

"Well...Nicole is studying. Maths test again, I believe. Lute's on a date with DANNY DANNY DANNY. I'm not kidding. That's how she refers to him. April got stuck working a double shift. Poor thing – Friday's are like hell at the restaurant and a double shift doesn't make it any better." She sighed. "Frankie was supposed to come, but I don't know. I think she has a new job or something. We get stuck with Ray all the time because I live with her and she's conveniently dating your best friend. It's like a package deal." She grinned at Jack. When he teasingly wrinkled his nose in response, she stuck out her tongue in retort. Laughing, Jack put his arms around her shoulders and squeezed affectionately.

They walked for a ways with no words passing between them before Audrey broke the silence. "Oh, and Jack? Thank you," she said.

"For what?" was his confused response.

"For being so lovely and so you."

On their way home, Jack led Audrey through an empty park, lit only by a few desolate lamp and the moon. She looked around at the swing sets, trees, and benches and mused, "Ah, here we are, taking the proverbial stroll through the park. Jack, we've become so cliche and so suddenly. I don't know if I can handle it. This must stop!"

"Ha, ha," Jack replied. "Well, you can stop right there, but I'm going to keep going. It's a shortcut. If we go through here instead of the streets around it, it'll save some time and some walking."

"Ah, I think I'll just follow you."

"Wise choice, grasshopper," Jack stated and took her hand in his, swinging it a little as they walked. "Do you wanna go back to my place or am I takin' you home?"

"Whatever," Audrey replied. She lifted up her head and gazed into the night sky. She could faintly make out a few constellations despite the hindrance of the bright city lights. After a moment's inspection, her vision blurred and the specks of light intermingled with the blue black sky and began to swim before her eyes, so she closed them. "Jack," she said in a pondering voice, "Why do you love me?"

His reply was simple. "What do you mean why? I love you because of who you are. That's why I love you."

Audrey wrinkled her nose as she turned to face him. Walking sideways, she said, "Ugh. That's a cop out answer if I ever did hear one."

"Cop out answer? What the hell are you talking about? It's a real answer." He shook his head. "Cop out. Okay...okay, Audrey you want a better answer, I guess?" She nodded in response. Jack licked his lips in thought and then turned around to face her, dropping her hand and walking backwards. "Okay. Well...hmm...I love you because your clothes never have to match because they only come in red, black, or white. I love your silly obsession with safety pins and that messy bun that you wear on the side of your head because it's fallen down and you don't care to fix it. I love how you insist upon peppermint tea, but it's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of." To this, Audrey scoffed and pushed him. "Ha! You're pushing me now?" he teased her. "Well, that's fine, I guess I won't continue if you're gonna abuse me."

"I'll stop," she shot back.

A smirk came across his face and he rolled his eyes. "Uhhhh...lemme see. What else? Oh! I love how I can tell it's an off day for you because you're drinking coffee instead of tea. I love that you scratch my stomach or side to wake me up instead of shaking me like any other coldhearted woman would. I love how you grumble when I try to wake you up any earlier than twelve. I love that your bangs are too long and you have to constantly brush them out of your eyes. I love how you run your fingers up and down the back of my neck whenever I'm doing something or you happen to be sitting beside me. Want me to keep going?"

"Yes."

"Alright. I love that you prop your feet up on my lap whenever we eat anywhere that has booths. I love your feet. You have perfect feet."

"Why thank you."

"No problem. I love that you have a fucking different pair of earrings for each of the three hundred and sixty five days of the year. I love your cute little accent and how you say "strawberry" and "knickers" and "cheers" and "bollocks" and what else? Oh! "Quid." And "fag." Yeah, that last one especially." He chuckled and waggled his eyebrows at her. "Are you tired of being gushed over yet?"

"Not in the slightest, boy," she said with a coy grin.

"Argh. Fine. I don't know how much more I can come up with, but I'll try. Just for you. I like how you call me boy. I love how you can go in the bathroom to brush your teeth and then come back with the most brilliant idea I've ever heard of for a painting or whatever. The bathroom's the weirdest place ever for coming up with inspiration, but you make it work. I love how you say profound things and then immediately go on to the next thing because you don't realize that it's actually profound. I love how you sit on my couch and eat every apple I have in the apartment in one sitting. I love the way you trace little hearts and other shapes on my back or chest when you think I'm sleeping. I love the way you laugh with your mouth open because you aren't afraid of what you look like. In the same token, I love the way your mouth forms that perfect little "o" when you're surprised or whatever. You know this is making me feel like a complete ass right?" He turned around and walked along side of her once more.

"Yes, and I like it," she said, reclaiming his hand as her own. They crossed through a playground area full of sand, making canyons of footsteps where they'd trodden. She held onto his hand and let him lead her.

"You would," he retorted, leaning over to kiss her forehead. "Um...I love that you make me sleep in even though it kills me to be in bed later than ten. I love that you crochet like a little old lady except with headphones. I love that I have to rescue you when you can't reach something or you need something opened or you forget things....when you break something or make a mess with the blender. I love that things are never good or cool...but "grand" and "lovely." I love that you think everything has a colour. Everything. I love that you always have to know every option before you make a decision. I love that I don't have to worry that you're running around on me or that you don't like me. I love that you tell me exactly what you think when asked and that you don't spare me your bluntness. I love how you apologize when you finally do apologize. I love that when I ask you to go out or do something with me, you never say no. I love that you're consistently late but you always show up. I love that you're walking here with me right now instead of doing whatever else you could be doing. And that's it. I'm spent. No more, Audrey." He walked a few more steps but then slowed to add, "I do wish you'd tell me where we are going."

"Back to your apartment," she told him, and then under her breath added, "You big dork."

Jack eyed her with pretend malice, but held his tongue. He veered left, and taking her with him, stepped out of the park and back onto the sidewalks of the teeming city.

_Once they reached his brownstone walk up, Jack climbed into the shower while Audrey brushed her teeth, borrowed one of his shirts to sleep in and stripped down to her knickers. She lied to wait for him, and when he finished, he crawled in beside her, smelling of soap and skin still warm and damp from the hot water. She loved how he smelled directly after he finished showering, and therefore, pulled him into a tight embrace once he was in grasping distance. They fooled around a bit, rolling around in the bed, skin never breeching more than a centimeter's distance. However, both finding they were too tired for anything further, they broke away from each other and settled upon sleeping. Jack was the first to fall completely asleep. Lying on his stomach, his back rose and fell, and Audrey lightly traced shapes upon his skin just as he'd said she would. Sleep had never come easily to her, and it was harder reached when she was away from her own bed. _

_She finally drifted into a fragile slumber, just deep enough for vivid dreaming. Her mind wandered to such a vivid dream, so real and feasible that her subconscious did not have a hard time convincing her that it was actually reality. In the dream, Audrey found herself back at her father's little house in Brighton. Her father was absent, lost somewhere in the house, yet Kit was there. Both she and him were entertaining two of their slightly cousins who were visiting from Dorset- Stephen and Rachel Taylor. Steve and Rachel's brother Phillip was also present, but choosing to remain in the next room, where Audrey assumed her father was. As she and Kit conversed with their female cousin about an old house that she wanted to see, which was located at the end of town and set to be torn, Audrey silently chided herself for leaving Jack and returning home. Kit kept up an avid conversation and promised Rachel that Audrey would take her to the house, yet Audrey only half listened and schemed up ways that she could get back to Jack. _

_She had to leave. She had to get away from Rachel, elude her somehow and get on a plane. She could meet Jack before sundown. She had to meet him before sundown. She could call him to tell him to wait for her at the airport. Yes, that's what she would do. She would get up and call him. She rose to go into the kitchen to use the phone, and as she did, Rachel announced that Audrey must take her to see the house that moment. That she would get Phillip because he would want to go along with them and Audrey could wait in the car for them. Rachel exited the room to seek out her older brother and while she was walking away, she told Audrey that she wanted to go into the house to poke around a bit, so they might be there a little longer than previously expected. Kit piped up cheerily and said that going inside would be a novel idea. When Rachel was gone, Audrey shot her brother a malicious glare and feverishly wracked her mind for a way to get out of the car ride, the trip to the old home, and the exploration of it. She looked outside and noticed it was overcast. Yes! Maybe she explain to Rachel that it was certain to be raining and that going out in such weather would not be wise. But her cousin was the stubborn type and was almost sure to not listen. Audrey sat down in the old, worn red armchair and held her head in her hands. What was she going to do? She had to get away from her house and her cousins to get back to Jack. It had become an absolute necessity and as she pondered how she was going to accomplish it, she had never felt more desperate or helpless. _

_When she awoke and her vision slowly unclouded, Audrey rubbed her eyes and forced them to focus. The first solid thing she could make out was a piano. Jack's piano with sheet music messily splayed across its top and bench. To her great relief and surprise, she had not left at all, and was still in his room with Jack faintly snoring beside her. She rubbed her feet together under the covers and then, carefully reached back with her left foot until her toe brushed against his warm heel. She blinked several times and pinched herself to be certain. Yes, she truly was still in his apartment, lying in his bed and dressed in his t-shirt. As she silently thanked God for it all having been a horribly realistic dream, Jack restlessly fidgeted in his sleep. Suddenly, he rolled over and casually slung an arm around her waist. Audrey lied there in silence, warmed anew by the closeness and comfort of his body. If she had tried her hardest, she could not think of time in which her heart had been so swollen with joy. It was the most perfect and complete feeling she had ever known. Within moments, she had fallen back into sleep, and was slumbering away peacefully and dreamlessly. _

.oooooooo.

"Nothing like the smell of oil paint and turpentine substitute to wake you up in the morning, I say. Most people wake up to the smell of coffee brewing. What do we want with that? No. We're art students – we're hardcore. We prefer the lovely nose burning smell of chemicals." Kylie smirked and then tipped her half filled thinner jar up to Audrey in a playful toast. She aloofly dumped the rest of the contents of her Turpenoid tin into the jar and sighed. Audrey leaned on her painting stand and watched the girl detachedly swirled a lump of titanium white into her puddle of ultramarine with her new palette knife. She'd set her less-than-substantial classroom easel up next to Kylie's as usual and the two busied themselves by chatting about absolutely nothing as they mixed, blended, painted in, smeared, and wiped at the canvases set before them. "I'm going to make another crappy painting," Kylie announced in a resigned tone, "But I figure I'll just keep putting more paint on to make it look like I'm working so I'll get a decent grade. I'm not going to spend all kinds of time trying to make it look beautiful because it won't, and I'm going to get a "B" anyway. I know it. I never get anything above a "B." But that's okay because a "B" is good enough to make my father happy."

Audrey sat down on her stool and impishly grinned at her friend. She had long had Kylie pegged as the "I just want to make pretty things to hang on my wall" type. These types of people usually only disgusted and annoyed her, but surprisingly, Kylie did not. She amused instead of bothering like all the others. Besides, Audrey told herself, with Kylie so blatantly unserious about pursuing anything art-related after undergrad, there would be one less young hopeful in competition for Audrey's prize. What Kylie had become comfortable in being was nothing that she could ever let herself slip to. It was perfectly fine for her friend to aspire to nothing, but she had so many dreams, hopes, and goals at stake. Though Kylie seemed quite content with her station in life, Audrey knew she would never be that girl. No matter how carefree and appealing it looked.

Audrey spied an undeniable eyesore on her canvas in the form of a few hideous specks of dried paint gathered into a lump of sorts in the top right corner. She cringed and scratched at it with her fingernail in an attempt to remove it without irreparably damaging any other part of her painting. As she picked at it, she complained to Kylie. "I can't wait until the day," she said, "when I can afford to not save my paint in between work times. Maybe then I wouldn't get those stupid little chunks of dried paint all over the canvas. When I'm not so broke and get a little money, that's the first thing I'm going to do – buy a lot of paint. And not the cheap kind that's mostly linseed oil. No, I'm going to switch from student grade to professional grade so it won't dry out so damn quickly. Look at this!" She held out her hand palm up to reveal a small pile of multicoloured shriveled flecks of hardened paint chips. "This is a disgrace. Bloody fucking hell..." She dusted off her hands and concentrated all of her attention on removing the last of the textural imperfections. While she was absorbed in her task, she did not notice the teacher standing behind her, surveying her painting with a tilted head and narrowed, scrutinizing eyes.

"Audrey, come stand back here for a moment," Gaither Pope said to her. "I think you can get a better look at it from a distance."

She pulled her head out of her painting, and rising to a full stance winced with the anti-delight that painting examination time had brought on. As she was told, she backed away from her work and stood at Gaither's side. He stroked his chin while the two examined what she had painted in silence for a good two minutes. Then Gaither offhandedly asked, "Do you sketch before you start these?"

"Well, um, no," was Audrey's tentative answer. "You see," she continued, "I never liked drawing all that much and I was never much of a planner when it comes to anything creative. I prefer to just grab a brush and go at it with the paint, correcting my mistakes as I move along." She hoped this answer would suffice because it was frankly the only one she could come up with.

"I see," came the contemplative reply accompanied by more chin stroking. He waited a few agonizing moments before adding, "Well, I think that perhaps you should. It would help you with the structure of your painting – help you to establish an underlying skeleton. This is your final painting of the semester, and it should show a mastery of everything you've learned this term. I know that what you choose to paint is minimalist and kind of hard to think about in a formulaic way, but just like any other picture, it has to have a backbone." He whipped out a small black covered sketchbook that he'd taken to carrying on his rounds about the class room and took the pencil from behind his ear. With it, Gaither Pope began to draw out a few rectangles meant to be representative of canvases.

While he talked about the importance of primary sketch work, Audrey stole a glance over the top of the book in which Gaither was drawing out planes and hazy shapes to see Kylie, perfectly blonde and dressed in her new Bebe jeans that her student loans had given her the freedom to spend money on. Pleasantly living off of those mounting loans and her parents' money, she was languidly painting away on a picture of a flower she had chosen abstracted. There was no motive for her to be abstracting the flower, other than she wanting to do use blue because it was her favourite colour and she liked tulips and wanted to paint a tulip. No, Audrey thought, less than halfway listening to Gaither's lecture on the often overlooked significance of making colour charts before one was to start a painting. There was nothing wrong with Kylie. Yet there was always something wrong with her. She was certain that no amount of sketching or planning out charts with premixed paint samples could fix whatever was wrong with her. Why did there always have to be something wrong with her? Why was she, and not silly flower-painting Kylie, pulled out to criticize and lecture?

Standing there, only partially aware of her mentor's droning, she became indignant and childishly hurt. What did Gaither Pope know? He was, after all, only an adjunct and not a true professor. She would show him, she vowed, stopping to gaze down at his hastily rendered drawings to nod her head and feign interest. She would prove to him that she was not the one in need of instruction by working doubly hard as she had been working before and producing something truly remarkable. When she was finally let alone and free from the guidance of the older man, Audrey slumped down on her stool and stared blankly at the canvas that formerly had held so much of her attention. She was tired already. The day had just begun and she was exhausted by all the work she had to do and the thought of trying to find a way to fit in more work on her paintings, enough shifts at work to pay rent, classes, and a boyfriend. It left no time for enjoyment, really, but moreso, no time for sleep. Audrey sighed and closed her eyes, feeling her lids heavily rest on her burning eyes, stinging from her mere three hours of sleep the night previous. "Sleep is optional," she told herself. "You can do this. It's easy. You just have to want to."

"What was that all about?" she heard Kylie ask.

"I wish I knew," was Audrey's answer.

.ooooooooooo.

Jack let a handful of dull, dirty quarters roll off of the palm of his hand and into his girlfriend's. He watched with amused interest as she slowly fed them into the coin slot for the dryer she sat atop. "You're moving slow motion today," he remarked with a smile. "Something wrong with you?" She shook her head in dissent. Jack shrugged and opened the door to the neighbouring washer. "You sure? You're not your normal whirlwind self," he said as he balled up and fed several pairs of jeans into the washing machine.

"I'm just tired, that's all," she told him in a low, drawling voice. "You done with this?" She pointed downward at the still open hatch of the dryer. Jack affirmed that he indeed was with a nod, and using her plaid converse clad foot, Audrey indolently kicked close the door and pushed the button to start the machine. She let her back relax into a curved slump and listlessly blew a large pink bubble from her wad of chewing gum. When the view outside of the laundromat's large windows failed to amuse her, she turned her attention toward Jack and watched as he fed a continuous stream of wrinkled jeans and t-shirts into the open door of the washer. "Is that all you wear?" she asked with a curled lip of disapproval.

"Isn't this all you see me in?" he returned, to which she shrugged. "Well, then," Jack continued, "I guess it's all that I wear."

"Oh."

"Oh? Come on, can't you say anything slightly more interesting or enthusiastic than that?"

She paused to gaze off into the distance while she scanned her mind for any tidbit of interest or the slightest fraction of enthusiasm. Still staring at a large chip in the paint above the doorway, she deadpanned, "I was almost married once."

Enthusiastic, it could hardly be described as. Yet, it caught Jack's interest. He stopped throwing clothes into the machine and held his rumpled black tee in his hand. His eyebrows perked up and his brown eyes snapped upward to meet hers. "Really?" he asked.

"Yeah. I was," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Why almost?"

"Well, it didn't work out. It was over a year ago, so I try not to think about it."

Jack let this comment slide. He did not want to pursue it for fear of the painful memories it might dredge up for her. Nor did he press for more information because any vivid description of his fawn-eyed girlfriend with another man would be certain to make his jealous stomach turn. She blew another bubble and popped it with her finger. In normal Jack Kelly style, he took this as enough closure and clearance to make a swift change in topic of conversation. Placing his favourite white button down shirt into the washer, he asked, "So, how's school?" It was a safe question, free from any possible answers involving ex-boyfriends or the like.

"Ugh," she replied, wincing.

"Ugh?" Jack repeated. "School is 'ugh'? That's not a description. That's something you say when your drop your fork into the garbage by accident and have to fish it out."

She shrugged and passed on any detailed answer by saying, "I don't wanna talk about it."

"Okay," he said. "I take it I should perhaps put this down as a topic not to be brought up or discussed for a while. Am I right?"

"I'd say that was a safe bet," she answered, tonelessly.

"What's wrong with you today?" Jack shook his head and slammed the washing machine's door. "You've usually got more life in you. Even when you're dead tired, you don't seem so...I dunno, dead, I guess." Eyebrows arched, he expectantly awaited her answer. What he got was more of a three act play. She let her head fall to the side and rest on her shoulder while staring at him and scowling. Then she straightened up and shook her head violently as though trying to exorcise some sort of bad spirit. Fluffing her hair, she plastered a large grin upon her face and then batted her eyes.

"How's this?" Audrey asked in an emphatic, lilting, and overly perky tone.

"Scary," Jack came back with.

A look of mock horror momentarily overtook her expression of faux joy, but the grin bounded back marvelously. "But we're doing laundry," she said in a melodramatically joyous voice. "What could be better than doing laundry? Nothing, that's what. I'm so happy to be sitting here on this clothes dryer watching you stuff your dumb tshirts into that washer there. Just the thought of it makes me tingle." She sighed deeply and dramatically faked a blissful shiver. "Oooh," she whispered coyly. "It's better than sex." Her mouth twisted into a pondering frown and then she added, "Well, maybe not better than sex. But right up there just the same!"

"Stop it," he told her wearily, as though reprimanding a child.

"No!" she shot back. "I can't stop it. It's just so wonderful!" At her outburst, several other patrons of the laundromat turned toward her and started to stare in impolite ways. Yet, she remained unphased- perched on the dryer and brimming with joy. "Look Jack!" she cried. "We're washing clothes!" Audrey threw her hands up into the air in a flourish and kicked her feet in the manner of a thoroughly wound up four year old delighted by the promise of candy.

Jack's disdain melted into laughter with the site of her devilish grin and eyes alight with mischief. Unable to help himself, he tripped over her alluring charms and let them win him over as they had done a thousand times before. Grinning madly, he took her in his arms and embraced her with a tight squeeze. "I love you," he whispered into her ear in between laughs. "So much."

A/N: Ugh. Sorry it took so bloody long to update...but you see...I was making Rush soundtracks and updating everything else, and it kind of just got lost in the shuffle. Therefore, I give you something long to read to make up for my tardiness. This chapter might seem a little fluffy and almost meaningless, and it completely is. But there's quite a purpose for it. Yeah, you heard me – there's some significance in this fluff. I've long been disgruntled with the relationships of most couples in romantic stories. It seems so often that the story details the rise and then immediately the fall and resolution of the pair's relationship with no substance or happy, comfortable period in between. It's like a triangle. Start of slowly...rise, rise, rise...hit the peak of absolute romantic culmination...and then start to downward spiral....which resolves itself in either a break up or make up. I'm determined not to do that.

This chapter inspired by a few actual occurrences, some brilliant RP sessions, and my Rush soundtracks, which make my little heart swell and twist whenever I listen to them. Chapter update celebrated with jello and a nap.

Review, please?

Thanks to all who read this and all who review, especially:

**Raeghann:** As requested, here you are. No poetry like smut in this chapter, but there is near-smut. Which is almost as good. More Moon is slated to start work on soon. Did that sentence make sense? No. (It's this chapter...It's killed me.) Okay, in English – I'm going to start working on more Moon soon. That is, after I write another chapter of Winter. Sigh. I've been reading From Dream to Dream and liking it. (Of course, I do...you wrote it.) Anyway, I tried to leave a little review saying "read and enjoyed" just to let you know that I was still reading and enjoying, but was being mean the two night that I tried and would not let me review in general. Therefore, just to let you know, I am still reading and enjoying very much so.

**LadyRach**: Get on the Rent wagon. It's a good place to be. Yes, Audrey is amazed by Jack, though she sometimes doesn't want to admit to herself that she is. (Hmm, maybe you should be worried about her.) I've given up on hating the Ray!musie for her shoe collection. She takes this hate personally and refuses to let herself be written. Now, I've resorted to offering her a new pair every chapter so she'll behave. Mmm...now you see what Audrey got from April? Tsk, tsk. In April's defense, she's not evil. She's just a bit misguided and is in general, a pretty good friend and person. I feel the need to stick up for my characters even though they're blatantly fictional.

and to all those who probably read but don't review, such as:

Emu, Run, Ravy, Mav...I still love you even if you don't feed my ego. I'm just glad you care enough to read.


	7. what i said to you then

A/N: While it may look like fluff or nothingness, this chapter is very heavy – conceptually, not content wise. There is really nothing graphic or obscene, just a lot of issues that are pivotal and were introduced in this chapter to be further developed in later chapters. The issues, problems, and concepts you see begun here are what I consider to be the defining themes of Rush. So, pay attention and make sure that you read this chapter before moving on to any future ones.

Also, I apologize for it taking so incredibly long for me to get this chapter out. (It's not even that long! Ack – someone chastise me!) It's all school's fault. I swear, they've set out to kill me this semester. Anyway, 8 is already in the works, so don't think that school will have any influence in persuading me to abandon or take a break from working on this story.

* * *

Chapter 7. what I said to you then.

_Click._

"So, I told her that she could just fire me if she wanted me to pull two double shifts for three days in a row," April said between snaps of the shutter of her beloved Canon AE-1. "I stood there with my hand on my hip and looked at her hard for like a full minute or so. Cause, you see, I knew and she knew that she didn't have anybody else to fill in the gap if I left." _Snap._ "Then, she just shook her head and looked really frustrated – you know that pissed off look she gets when she wants someone to feel sorry for her like she's some kind of victim? That one. Anyway, so she shakes her head and just walks off and mumbles 'whatever' under her breath. And that..." _Click_. "Is the story of my little victory over the Dana monster." She sat back in Audrey's desk chair and sighed contentedly as she looked up at the brown haloed rings on the water-stained ceiling. "Oh le sigh. Vive la vie boheme," she rattled off, almost instinctively and gestured up toward the ceiling's brown rings. "I suppose it makes up for itself though. Art's a very sweet fuck all to all who're not in the field."

_How true._ From her position on the floor at April's blue-socked feet, Audrey gave her a lopsided smile. Then, traces of the smile still reverberating across her face, she returned to her tongue-biting and determined tugging at the edge of the painting. The canvas was no good to her because upon it she'd painted a clumsily rendered nude female reclining in a law chair draped with a yellow sheet. Being poor didn't afford her the luxury of being sentimental instead of practical. Honestly, she didn't have much use for mediocre paintings, especially if they were of a graphically nude, overweight model with bleached blonde hair and an eyebrow piercing. Therefore, with her favourite flat head screwdriver, a pair of pliers, and her own barehanded, brute strength, off they went as she freed them from their stretcher bars to make way for new, fresh canvas with infinite possibilities. Audrey bit her bottom lip hard and yanked fiercely on a stapled corner as April snapped frames full of still lifes made up of objects comprising the ordered mess surrounding them. Giving up on the power of her own hand, Audrey employed the screwdriver's tip and was busy wiggling it under a particularly stubborn staple when the door swung open with a loud creak and Ray sashayed inside with bounce in her step and sunshine painted on her face.

"Hellooo," she cooed sunnily, tossing her long dark braid along with the dangling ends of the scarf around her head over her shoulder and putting her bags down upon the kitchen counter. She turned toward the two girls and clasped her hands together like an excited schoolgirl. "You'll never guess what happened to me! Come on – guess! Guess!"

"Ummm, someone rich died and left you their entire collection of strappy sandals?" April offered. Audrey chuckled to herself at the thought and tugged resolutely at the edge of her canvas. With a loud rip, she'd freed another whole side, and sat slowly and meticulously removing each staple from the flapping canvas, one by one and throwing them into the wastebasket.

"Well, no. But that would be fabulous. No – think accomplishment. Think big career move!" Audrey and April exchanged glances of puzzlement. April scratched the side of her nose, just around the left nostril's small diamond stud, Audrey lazily twisted a stray strand of her hair around her finger, and Ray stood in silence, bursting at the seams in excitement. She gave them what she thought to be sufficient thinking time before she scowled and put her hands on her hips. "Oh come on," she said, her voice hinting at annoyance. "This is not hard." Audrey shrugged and then April followed suit. Raven rolled her eyes and decided that their failure to make even the slightest attempt at guessing her good news dissuade her happiness. "So," she started off, light dancing in her brown eyes and her face pleased and aglow. "I went to that open call they had for auditions at that little theatre in Midtown I told you about. They're doing "Cat on A Hot Tin Roof." And anyway, to make a long story short because you both look glazed over and bored – I went in and read and dazzled them and ding! You are looking at Maggie the Cat in person!" Ray threw her arms up triumphantly and did a full spin. "Rehearsals start as soon as school gets out on winter break. They're paying me...well, not much, but it's still money. AND I worked it out with the Drama department, and I even get three hours of class credit for doing it!"

"Ah," said April, turning to Audrey with a sardonic grin. "Proof that she does go to school."

"I go to school," Ray said in her own defense, a look of mock hurt playing over her face. "Well, most of the time, I do. I can't help it if my classes force me to operate on different schedules than you two do."

"I suppose you also can't help it if your social life and shopping are more demanding than ours, right?" Audrey mused dryly, yet playfully, her attention turned back to yanking the edges of the canvas.

"Ha ha ha," Raven returned, her hand going to her hip in obvious non-amusement. "Oh, but I got the most gorgeous pair of earrings today," she continued, her voice light and lilting once more. "Look." She walked over to Audrey and April and turned her head to the side to show off her latest purchase. As she did, the light from the window perfectly caught the facets of the prominent stone on her earring and sparkled amidst the stray strands of Raven's dark hair. At the mention of new earrings, the rent check was the first thing that came to Audrey's mind. She had paid that last one in full because Ray had spend her half of it on shoes or something equally ridiculous and unnecessary. Ray'd promised that she'd catch the next one herself. However, examining the glint of the semi-precious stones and crystals in her brand new, elaborately expensive ear accessories, Audrey knew where her promised rent money had gone, and sighed deeply. After six and a half months of living together, Audrey had observed enough of Ray's behaviour to know very well that the girl knew nothing of doing without. She only understood what was immediate and in the here and now, and held the mentality that if she wanted something badly, why not buy it? Audrey, on the other hand, was cut from an entirely different cloth.

_She had learned sacrifice at a very young age. In argyle knee socks and a bobbed haircut, she used to accompany her mother to the grocery store. Kit would come also, that is, whenever he wanted something bought for him. She could recall a particular incident on a trip to the market. Kit was promised a chocolate bar if he'd keep his hands in his pocket and follow within five feet of his mother at all times. When they arrived at the register, Kit had held up his end of the deal, therefore he was rewarded with two chocolate bars. Much to her surprise and embarrassment, Audrey's mother had picked up the wrong purse when leaving. To the cashier, she explained with remorse, regret, and apology that in the purse she carried was only 39 pounds – clearly not enough to pay the forty two pound, seventy three crown tab. Maintaining all of her grace and manners, Audrey's mother put her magazine back. It knocked off two quid. She looked around at her collection of food items and kitchen accoutrement. Then she looked at Kit clutching his two chocolate bars. With a sigh of motherly regret and resignation, she forced the reluctant boy to hand over his prize._

"_That's not fair," he remarked, and sulked. Poking his bottom lip out as though his mother had done him so great injustice, he indignantly kicked the bottom of the register with the toe of his cowboy boot. "You promised!" he whined. _

_His mother scratched her head and then, groaning, put one candy bar back into the boy's eager hands. Audrey said nothing, but cast a forlorn look, first at Kit's sugary treat and then at her mother. "Oh," she said with a sigh and grabbed another chocolate bar to give to her daughter. Audrey smiled brightly upon receiving it. _

_The young cashier stood at her post, disgruntled. She smacked on her chewing gum as though the force of her teeth against it was a way of working out her frustrations. Hand on her hip, she cocked her head to the side in a challenging manner and raised her eyebrows. The monitor on the register still showed forty eight, ninety six. "Look ma'am," she scolded, her voice high and grating in between the sharp pops of her gum. "That's not helping. You're still near a whole one over your thirty nine quid mark."_

"_Yes, I know," Audrey's mother returned quietly, dead determined to try her best not to allow the rest of the store catch wind to her embarrassing predicament. A customer behind her, and elderly gentleman, tried to be helpful and attempted to offer her the extra pound. Yet, her mother refused him with a gracious smile and a prompt shake of the head. She tapped her foot and examined the contents on the counter before her, trying to decide what she could do without. Audrey looked down at the silver-foiled wrapper she held in her small, chubby hands, streaked red and blue with washable marker. It gleamed in the light and caught her eye's fancy when she turned it the right way. She was only five and a half, but bright enough to know and understand the situation and the uncomfortable way her mother shifted her stance repeatedly and held a sideways pucker on her face. Gently, she held it up to her mother in offering._

"_Here Mummy, I don't need it," she said._

"Yeah well," Ray explained, "The whole shoe connoisseur thing didn't exactly work out. Shoes are just too expensive and too easy to tell when you've bought something el cheapo. It was never going to work out because of my stupidly non-existent job deal. You have to be picky when you live on loan checks. Therefore, I'm switching my focus over to jewelry, because these days, you can sooo get away with cheap and gaudy if you play it off correctly." She rubbed her hands together as if to show that the shoe to jewelry switch was a firmly done deal. "Oh well. I need to celebrate."

Audrey perked up at the word "celebrate." Her hands hurt from pulling at the canvases and she could use a break after the dull, monotonous work she'd been engaging in for the last hour and a half. It could be like an "end of semester celebration" she thought with a smile. She needed it after the toll the five months had taken on her. She felt overworked and out of love with the entire art deal and just wanted to relax for the night. A night out with Ray and their friends of drinks, dinner, and dancing could not have been a better prescription for what ailed her.

Ray glanced toward the old round, fake gilt clock above the entryway to the kitchen and cringed. "I've got to go and get ready. Spot will be here in half an hour."

Audrey's wide smile waned to nothingness and her shoulders slumped. _Spot?_ She'd been imagining strobe-lit pictures tinged with liquor's golden hue and laughter while all along Ray had planned a date with Spot instead. Audrey should have known better. In fact, she did. Her slip into fantasyland was just a moment of hopeful weakness. Lustrous, buoyant dreams quickly deflated by the mention of her persistent other half's name. "But I thought Spot was going out with Jack and David and the lot tonight? You know, no girls allowed. That sort of thing," Audrey argued, hoping she was not giving away the displeasure and disappointment she felt. She was reaching, she knew. But at the moment, her slight desperation bred careful shamelessness.

"Well," Ray said brightly, diminishing Audrey's faint hopes with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I called him. Plans change! Besides, I don't get a part in a play everyday. He can go out with his friends whenever he wants. This is special." She took her bags into her arms and carried them into her room.

Once she was gone from their company, April looked to Audrey with a cynical look upon her face and said, "Now, you really didn't believe she meant to take us along, did you? Oh, you did. Really, Audrey – sometimes you're so naive."

"No, April. The word is hopeful. Stupidly hopeful," the younger girl replied, yanking at a staple with a vengeance.

"Call it what you want."

"I will." Audrey gritted her teeth and with one swift pull, removed the stubborn staple and jerked backwards with its release. She, like Raven before her, stole a glance at the clock and frowned. "Not like I had time to go out anyway. I've got to get going on this. I've got Philosophy homework to do. We've got to analyze some essay. I took the class with Kylie because we both needed to fill a humanities requirement. She's already called six times today trying to get me to help her understand it. So, I've got to be at school at eight bleeding o'clock tomorrow morning to meet her and re-teach it to her. That makes it me understanding it kind of vital."

A half hour of clatter, thumps, and curses passed in Ray's frenzy to get ready on time. At precisely the proposed time, she emerged from her room, clad in a deep violet sweater, perfectly tailored gray pants and heels. She waved a flourish of fingers in a hurried goodbye to April and Audrey and strutted out of the door. After the traces of Chanel scent dissipated, Audrey clapped her hands on her knees and popped up to a stand. Defiant and determined, she waltzed into the kitchen and moments later returned with a full glass of burgundy liquid.

"What's that?" April asked, eyes on the glass.

"Ray's wine. It's the good stuff. She had her brother bring it back for her when he went to Naples." She held the glass up to the light to examine the glorious jewel-toned translucency of the dark colour. "I'm celebrating," she remarked with a smirk. She took a sip and swished it around in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. "Uh huh," she said. "It's definitely the good stuff. You want some? There's enough left that we could take more and possibly have her not notice. You know...so we can both 'celebrate' properly."

April shook her off. "No, I'm not much on wine. Merlot, especially. Besides, you took enough vengeance for both of us. Not that I had very much anyway. I don't bother - I just expect it from her and get over it." She shrugged and picked up her camera. Popping off the lens cap, she held it to her eye and adjusted the focus until Audrey's sulking face and her wine glass became sharp. "Say _disenchantment_!" April said brightly. In response, Audrey turned a sullen face toward her and held up her glass to the camera in toast as April snapped another picture. "Now," she said, setting her camera aside, "let's go and smoke up until we don't care anymore, alright? Then afterwards, we can put on Midnight Vultures, dance like we're in a disco, and drink some more of Ray's wine."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

"Look...you have to concentrate, Dave. Concentrate! Just focus on the ball hitting the damn pins, will ya? And stop being such a whiny baby." He took a drag from his cigarette and huffed the smoke out through his nostrils. "Christ. Why'd I get you on my team?" Jack leaned back in his chair and rubbed his brow with his free hand while nouveau disco's funk and rhythm filtered through a less than ideal PA system.

David took three long steps to the black line of no return and then reared his arm back and heaved the ball down the lane. "Stop blaming me, will ya?" he said to Jack as they both watched his ball veer left and then, as it had the previous two times, drop off into the gutter with a determined thunk. "I'm no good at this stupid game!" he cried. "I told you that. It's not my fault that Spot punked out on you at the last minute." He trudged over to where his friends were sitting and plopped down in the chair next to Jack. Folding his arms, he sunk into his seat and scowled at Jack.

Jack broke their shared stare and took a gulp from his bottle of Miller Lite. He tilted his head upward to review the automated scoring system's screen. "Skitts, you're up," he said. "Feel free to fuck it up so we can have some hope of winning."

Andrew laughed at Jack's remark. He walked over to the ball return, picked up his blue ball and fitted his fingers into the holes. With three long strides, he approached the lane and released his ball with speed and skill. Jack watched in contempt as the ball blazed down the lane and knocked over each pin without hesitation. "Well, that seems to be workin' like gangbusters for ya...go to hell, will you Skittery?" Jack retorted. "And while you're there, give Spot my regards." He mumbled curses under his breath about Spot being one thoroughly whipped son of a bitch and slammed his bottle on the side table in order to take his own shot at it. His fierce determination must have hindered his swing, because in two tries, he only managed to knock down nine of the ten pins. One sole pin was left standing. It smirked at him in indignation. "It's just a game," he told himself under his breath so that the rest of the fellows couldn't hear. "Just a game." Jack fished in his pocket for his phone to check the time and found it underneath his lighter, a safety pin, and a crumpled receipt for the sandwich he picked up at lunchtime. They'd paid for two hours on the lane, and Jack hoped that when he looked at the time, it would read closer to twelve than to ten.

Yet instead of the time emblazoned on the screen, he found that he'd somehow missed a call. It was odd, he decided, being the he usually had his ears finally tuned to the precise ring of his phone and could hear it even in the most crowded, noisy place. He must have turned the ringer off for class and forgotten to turn it back on. The call was placed from a number he didn't recognize right off. But then, he'd had a few beers and the swirling horns and techno beats were impairing his though process. Behind the missed call was also a voice mail. Jack looked around at the excited chattering bowlers and the stoned looking DJ spinning extraordinarily loud music and knew without a doubt that there'd be no way in hell that he could properly listen to the message. Therefore, he excused himself with a gesture to his phone and a wave to his friends and stepped outside to give it a listen.

He stepped into the cold night, nearly frozen immediately without the jacket he'd forgotten to take with him and placed the phone to his ear. "Hello, Jack. This is Ms. Mooney. I know it's late," the voice began. After Ms. Mooney had finished her discourse, Jack slowly removed the phone from his ear and let it hang at his side. His face looked daze and a smile was beginning to exert and upward tug upon the corners of his lips. He laughed aloud and paced in a little circle, biting his lip in thought. What he'd heard, he could scarcely believe. With revived energy and zest, he excitedly punched in the seven numbers to Audrey's apartment. He waited in eager anticipation as the phone rang and wondered what she'd say in reaction. He tapped his foot as it rang the seventh and eight time, and then hung up to look at the clock. _Eh_, he thought, _she's probably taking a nap_. Therefore, he shrugged and thought nothing of it. School and work were two things that left her exhausted, though life did not afford her an early bedtime. Jack knew that she sometimes took hour long naps at odd times, so that she could continue working long into the night. Night suited her best for inspiration and creative drive, so she did what she had to do.

A sudden chill ripped through him and reminded Jack that he was, indeed, still standing out in the cold and wet night air without a jacket. He turned on his heel and sought out the dry heat and comfort of the bowling alley. When he reached his friends, he was sporting a full scale dopey grin. David was first to notice. He cocked his eyebrows upward at the sight of his friend and sardonically asked, "What's wrong with you?"

"I'm a finalist," Jack responded in an airy voice.

"A finalist?" Race repeated. "For what? The Miss America pageant?" Obviously amused with himself, Race thumped the back of his hand on Skittery's chest after his remark, and the two shared in laughter.

"Cheese it, you two," Jack said with a shake of his head. "Not for the damn Miss America pageant. For the Neumann Barnes Scholarship." When he was met by three blank stares and silence, he decided it best to clarify. "The scholarship to go to Santa Fe for a year. It covers tuition and comes with an internship. I told you'se guys about it."

"Oh yeah, I remember." David piped up.

"Hey, ain't you been chasin' that one for some time now?" Skittery added, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees...apparently also having it brought back to mind by Jack's reminder.

"Yeah," Jack said with a sigh as he ran his hand through his hair and scratched the back of his neck. "I applied for it about a year ago. Never thought I'd get it or anything. But now I'm a finalist. It's just me and two other people outta that whole school."

Race stood and tapped his cigar on the ashtray. He walked over to Jack and clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, congrats Jacky-boy," he said, placing the cigar between his teeth and biting down on it hard. He wove his fingers together and pushed outward until they cracked with a descending chain of pops and snaps. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got ten pens to knock the hell out of."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

The semester had ended for Audrey as quickly as it had come. Though, in the midst of it, she would have sworn that such was not the case. Either way, she was thrilled for it to be over, but far less than thrilled about having to spend her Christmas in New York instead of Sussex. She was poor and disheartened – poor being the operative word. She needed to see her family, but she found she needed money much more. Much to her disappointment, fate took initiative and exchanged her plane ticket home for extra hours at the restaurant. Therefore, to console herself and in celebration of her last critique and Jack's last final, the two took a trip over to the Angelika to see the special midnight showing of "A Streetcar Named Desire." As they walked down the side aisle, Audrey took Jack's hand and led him to the exact middle of the theatre. They settled into their seat and she turned to watch him take off his beloved leather jacket. He removed his right arm, and then his left, and then folded it in half lengthwise and then placed it on his lap and brushed off the white fuzz that had collected. She grinned as she watched him go through the process. He had performed this routine at least a hundred times in her presence, each time, executed exactly in the same fashion – not one step forgot. It was comforting to her. Even though the gesture was small, slight, and completely insignificant in the scope of the world or the course of a life, she felt it comforting and affirming. It was something solid and concrete that she felt would always be there in its unchanged state. In her unstable, shaky world where nothing seemed to be immune to life's undertow, she could always recall Jack taking off his jacket and laying it across his lap (after which, he would surely take her hand in his) and cling to it as her own little piece of calm. It was almost like coming home. So much about Jack was.

He noticed her studying him and was quick to survey himself and ask, "What?" He looked up and down himself once more. Pulling at his shirt, he asked, "Did I spill miso soup on my shirt or something?"

"No," she replied with a distinct partiality in her voice. Feeling it too girlish and dependent to tell him that he was the rock upon which she stood, she instead settled for something less epic and profound. "Your hair looks a little windblown," she said and lifted her right hand to his tousled hair. She lifted a lock of it from his forehead and pushed it to the side, sweeping it over his temple. Audrey then proceeded to quickly fingercomb the rest of his hair. It was raw umber in colour, she thought to herself. Raw umber with just a touch of yellow ochre for lightening. Funny how she knew such things. Funny how she'd probably never be able to remember the names of her children's children, but would always remember the exact pigment mixture of Jack Kelly's mess of hair. "You need a haircut," she told him, rubbing the end of a clump of strands in her fingers.

"Yeah, probably," Jack replied, batting her hand away and smoothing his hair himself.

Throughout the course of the film, Jack stole glances out of the corner of his eye at his girlfriend, who sat transfixed. Blue, red, golden lights flashed over her face from the screen's reflected projections as she mouthed the words to the lines as though she were reciting her prayers. He smiled to himself, and reached over to clasp her hand in his. After he did, she turned to him and with a painted grin, delivered the heroine's next line as though it were a personalized sentiment, anew, outloud, and meant especially for Jack. Bemused, he leaned over close enough to her ear for her to hear and asked, "How many times have you seen this?"

Eyes glued to the screen, she replied, "Enough."

The movie ended all too soon. Audrey and Jack rose from their seats, and hand in hand, Jack expertly weaved through the crowd of people with Audrey on his heels. Much to their dismay, they were greeted by small flurries of new snowfall and a vicious freezing wind when they opened the door to step outside. Jack zipped up his coat and Audrey set about winding her scarf around her neck and slipping on her gloves. Huddled as close together as they could manage and still attain movement, they walked a slow path back to Audrey's apartment. Jack flipped up his collar to guard against the wind and entertained with a bellowing rendition of "I'm Dreaming of a Brown Christmas," with lyrics altered to suit his purpose. Audrey laugh, shivered, and jokingly chided Jack for not being more optimistic. Worn down by life, school, and the cold, they finally gave up and gave in. Audrey nodded to Jack and he happily stepped toward the street and promptly hailed a cab. They climbed in, and for the short duration of the ride, she leaned over and rested her head upon Jack's shoulder. He felt her body relax and could have sworn that she drifted off into a light and fragile sleep. But when the taxi pulled up to its destination with a jerking halt, she snapped up as though her consciousness should have never been questioned.

Up the stairs and down the hall they went. Audrey put her key in the lock of 3F and turned it. The door opened to a dark, empty room, touched only by the cold and the lingering smell of smoke infused Chanel, which she breathed in and grimaced. The scarf unwound from her neck, the coat unbuttoned, and the gloves pulled off, she cast the three down to the floor by her discarded shoes and freed her hair from its messy bun as she walked into the kitchen and flicked on the light. Jack did likewise and followed her, where he leaned against the doorframe and watched her motions with interest. "Do you even have a room mate anymore?" he mused to her.

She stood on tiptoe and plucked a single envelope of Earl Grey from a high cabinet. "Honestly, I don't know. You tell me – you see her more than I do, I think. You two, always going out to lunch and things," Audrey insinuated.

"Well, that's just because you've got an absurd schedule and can't do any of that with me during the day. Ray's and I have breaks at the same time, and she amuses me. Don't start thinking that I'm in love with her or anything," Jack said, defensively.

"Oh, I won't. She's at Spot's. It's what she does these days. She packs up her overnight bag, or two of them, and stays over there for days. It's alright though. I take full advantage of the quiet and the space. And if I needed to talk to someone, well, there's always the television or the walls." The antiquated microwave emitted a shrill wail and Audrey hearkened to its call. "Nah, it isn't so bad," she said over her shoulder. "I rarely feel like talking, and if I needed to, I could always talk through a brush. The phone's an option too, but only if I'm desperate. I see April at work, and Nicole's around most of the time. And, not to mention, I have you and you're enough to talk to." She removed her black and white mug from its chamber and blew across the top of it, rippling the hot water inside and forcing the steam's upward path into a slant. As she stepped the envelope in the water, bobbing it up and down to fully immerse it, she asked, "Are you staying here tonight?"

Jack shrugged. "I don't know. I guess," he answered.

"You should," she responded, eyes still on the tea, but grinning slightly.

"Well, I might just go home and go to bed if the big plans for the night are sitting around and watching you make tea," he teased, crossing his arms over his chest.

She stopped the push pull motion of forcing her tea bag into the water, and turned to face him. "Look boy, I doubt your life is much more exciting. You have the same routine I bet...go work, go to school, go to work...eat, some form of entertainment, then sleep."

"Hey, lay off," he retorted. "And anyway, you forgot the piano."

"No, I didn't. I clumped it in with "some form of entertainment." Not that you've been playing much lately, anyway. Right?" Audrey flung the dripping tea bag into the wastebasket and turned to Jack with eyebrows raised and expectancy to be proven correct written all over her face. When he didn't answer and avoided her gaze by looking down at his feet, she simply nodded her head. "Right," she answered herself and walked over to him. She took a sip from her mug and scratched his stomach lightly with her fingernails. "Routine, routine, routine..." she teased affectionately. "I bet you've never even stayed up for an entire night. Have you?" He shook his head in dissent. "Well you should," she continued in a matter of fact tone of voice. "Everyone should see the sunrise from the other side. It's like a reversed sunset paradox in that it closes your day, yet opens it at the same time."

And she was right. In the cool, delicate blue of night's path to morning, the world seemed different to Jack. Everything was hazy, shadowed, and barely discernable, yet never more definite and defining. He'd made love to her slowly and intently and then laid by her side and talked to her in few, hushed, partial words. In his fatigued and lax state, warmed halfway by blankets and body heat, he'd never felt more alive. The way the light draped itself onto her face as a stray lock of hair fell over her piercing eyes made her new to him. She was foreign in the most exciting way. His mind went to and fro, relishing in the great mirage of contradiction. She seemed like a stranger to him – a faraway, beautiful stranger in red boy's underwear and messy bun that he would always dream about but never hold.

She lived in a world completely apart from his – the world of the eternally seeing...the world of the creative. He knew nothing of it, which only served to entice him more. Try as he may, he couldn't imagine how life was glimpsed through her trained eye. For all intents and purposes, they thrived on opposite ends of the spectrum, hers creating and his analyzing. Their lives would have never once conveniently intertwined if not for one out of character trip to an obscure club tucked neatly into an old converted warehouse in Bohemia's most bohemian. It was Jack's one, toe-dipping venture into the art's foreign underworld, and that one blip in his otherwise normal routine had brought him to her apartment, lying in bed across from her still, warm body swathed in faint blue glow.

Life is made up of the otherwise unnoticed, he thought. He could have taken one step forward and disappeared into the crowd, taking his friends with him. April would have never noticed David and never called him over. Jack would have never followed, would have never been introduced to picture perfect Ray or her beguiling, quiet friend, and he would still be taking shallow women to see romantic comedies at the mainstream theatre and eating a pretentious, far to costly dinner after, only to return home at the end of the night to incomplete homework and an empty mess of an apartment. The thought of the possible near miss that was his current state of life was difficult to digest. It seemed utterly real to him that everything was ultimately so fragile and volatile. So fleeting. Yet, as his brain labourously wove its understanding around this idea, he knew he could easily reach out and run his hand along the warm curve of her side and be instantly reminded that she was his and that the world was right in that instant. All the while, she had been tossing him sleepy smiles and speakig to him of England and rain with such awe and inspiration that he couldn't help but marvel at her. "I used to think," she said with a yawn and rolled onto her back. "That when I moved away from Brighton and to somewhere else – wherever else it was that I moved to – that it would have to be near train tracks. Back home, I used to fall asleep every night to the sound of trains in the distance. They passed day and night, but I only heard them at night when everything was quiet and still. They were like ghost trains – only faint whispering whistles calling out in the dark. It's funny how I exchanged ghostly train whistles for traffic and car alarms."

_She's going to get me to believe in something again,_ he thought to himself. An orphaned child, having grown up the hard way in a lower middle class home in a city that was often unkind, he already hadn't had faith in much – not in himself, not in his talents, not in the state of the country or likewise things. When Sarah had left him, she'd stripped him of what little faith he had left. Women, marriage, the little house with the white picket fence disappeared from his sight, though, somehow in the back of his mind, he always hoped they'd return to disprove him. When Audrey paused to close her eyes and rest for a moment, Jack took the break as an opportunity to speak his mind. "I've never been happier than I am right now, Audrey," he whispered, reaching out to cup her face in his hand. "I want this to go on forever. I could marry you and be perfectly content for the rest of my life."

It was an informal backdoor to the more risky and serious declaration, but it was still of the same breed. Instead of a joyous response to the culmination of any girl's childhood dreams, Audrey instead cringed. Inwardly, her stomach began to churn. She felt the bile began to rise up in the back of her throat and she fought it down with all of her might. "Um," she choked out, uncertain of how to respond. She was dying a slow, agonizing death trying to think of what to say. But what killed her more so, was knowing just how excitedly and eagerly Jack was awaiting her answer. "That's sudden," she finally managed, to which Jack shrugged his shoulders. He would not be so easily fought off and put away, she noted. After some silence had passed, she finally decided it best to just tell him the truth...or a close of a form of the truth as she could allow herself. "Jack..." she began hesitantly, "Forgive me for saying this...but I'm really young and so are you...and right now, I just can't picture myself getting married. I don't think I'm the marrying type, really."

She'd hoped for the best or even a forgery of acceptance from him. But in the cool light of early morning, she saw his face fall and his eyes quickly avert her gaze. "Jack?" she said softly. "Jack..." When he refused to let his eyes trail over her face, she reached for his chin and forced him to. "Jack, love...don't misunderstand me. I'm young and stupid. I probably don't know what type I am and will most likely change my mind when I come to a proper marrying age. It's just too overwhelming...too much for me to think about right now. And I think that's why it scares me." She offered him a weak smile, and he returned it with the same soft hearted sympathy. He had believed her and forgiven her in his heart, she knew. But she had lied to him straight faced and so easily. In truth, Audrey had known for some time that she'd never get married. Many late night she stayed away wondering about the nature of marriage and why anyone forced themselves to endure it if it would only end in certain misery for them. Besides, why did one have to pledge eternal devotion to one another in order to feel fulfilled. Why couldn't people simply love each other without possession and entrapment? Wouldn't love be more precious and fulfilling that way? If it were freely given instead of legally required...

Jack did accept her explanation. He accepted it, and molded it to his own liking as he tossed it aside with the thought that "she'll grow into marriage soon enough." After he put the lukewarm answer to his proposition out of his mind, he slipped once more into the warm arms of content. She talked out of discomfort and embarrassment over her verbal fumbling, he knew. But he let her go on, letting the rhythm of her voice arouse his mind and body, allowing himself to become lost in her philosophies about art and life. She spoke of the beauty of everyday objects and slight instances that go unnoticed. He didn't know if it were his fatigue that made him so sensitive to her words, but the conviction in her voice was so persuasive that Jack thought she could have talked of a mere rock and made him believe that the simple rock somehow enveloped the meaning of life.

"This is the only time we have" was her whispered declaration. "There's only today to live in and it just slips away if we don't take advantage of it...that's why I always feel as though I'm on some sort of timeline. Always striving to get to the next checkpoint before the clock runs out. It's a desperate way to live, but it's the truth of things. And if you think about it and subscribe to that belief, it really makes you aware of what great potential every day gives you that you just...waste." Her words resonated in his ears and mind and set fire to his heart. He needed to progress, to do something worthwhile. What had he been doing? Sitting around, drinking, playing poker, and fulfilling only the meaningless assignments that school required? Fuck that. It was time for him to stop squandering his life and let the eloquence of _NOW_ make up the fabric of his being. He wanted to feel as impassioned as he could tell she was from her words. His head was spinning, brimming artistic notions and the grand possibilities of being only twenty two.

"Talk," she finally said to him.

Shaken from the slow gravitational pull of sleep and daydream, Jack cleared his throat and shifted gears from philosopher to conversationalist. "About what?" he asked, his voice raspy and low from disuse and nagging fatigue.

"I don't know," she responded. Audrey rubbed her eyes and brushed her bangs out of her face. Breathing in deeply, she brought her arm up and let it rest behind her, cradling her head and letting her fingers fall slack against the pillowcase. "Anything will do. I'm just tired of hearing my own damn voice babble on. Ask a question."

He reached out, his fingers finding her free hand. With his thumb, he traced the bends and shapes of her palm, the lines written that spoke of her substance. "What's...what's your mother's name?"

"Diana," she answered.

Jack chuckled inaudibly to himself. How fitting, he thought. How appropriate. If not a goddess herself, as least she was the spawn of one. It was a suitable lineage for her if anything ever could be. They were like facets of the same jewel, he imagined. She probably had her mother's face and haphazard grace. The same unearthliness that ran through Audrey's blood was probably a gift from her fabled mother – two cut from a different cord than most. It was comforting to know that her presence came from where. It made her grounded, gave her life structure and purposed descent. Knowing that she was a descendent of someone and that there were more than one like her weighted Audrey's wings, and made her real enough for Jack to think he could hold onto.

When the morning had come and the sunset been watched, Jack departed from her side with a long kiss and a mumbled, yet appreciative thank you. Whereas he knew that Audrey would immediately retire to her bed, Jack went home with purpose. He wasn't tired...but lightheaded with anticipation and lost in the glamour of the world's infinite possibilities – it was reassuring to say the least and he felt somewhat infinite, even when taking into consideration the great scope of things. Strangely enough, he'd begun to believe in something – in many things and with a tenacity that he'd never had before. He took the subway home, and sitting in his seat as the world passed by in a blur, he hummed lines of melody to himself. Fractured and imperfect as they were, they were still something tangible and yet, malleable enough that his determination could transform. When he crossed over the threshold of his door, his eyes promptly fell onto piano in the corner and saw nothing else.

He approached the piano with great determination, intent on producing something worthwhile. But as he sat down on the bench, he felt all of the vigor and inspiration drain out of him. He was left empty and stupidly helpless. He reached up and plucked a note out of a key. A. And then another – C. Nothing. There was no drop of the potent spell of creativity to help him after. Perhaps the drive and inspiration that he had felt were only an illusion of his tired mind and heavy eyes. With bravado and sheer will, he lifted his hands to the keyboard and slowly and hesitantly began to pull from it a few bars of song. As he played on, his subconscious must have realized that it was going nowhere, for it quickly and seamlessly twisted the mediocre composition into Puccini's _Musetta's Waltz_.

BANG BANG. The piano groaned in anguish as Jack slammed his fist into its keys twice. It heaved one more frustrated sigh, when he laid his arm over it and then rested his head in his arm's crook. Angrily, he stood up, pushing the bench back with great noise and violence. He stomped into the kitchen and returned, eating cold, leftover Chinese food from a takeout box. As he chewed thoughtfully on fried rice and a pod of snow peas, his mind circled around that same song he'd been trying to write for ages. It wasn't new and exciting, but it was a starting point at least, he figured. Perhaps he could try to finish it. He hummed a bar of it to himself.

"When I dream," he sang softly and thoughtfully feeling around his creative subconscious for a furthering of his lyrics. "On my own...I'm alone..." A long pause of congested silence followed after as his "creative subconscious" began to fail him miserably. Jack stroked his fingertip lightly against the G key and fought back all of the voices in his head that screamed that he could not do this. Instead, he closed his eyes and sternly told himself that life was passing him by and if he couldn't manage to produce one silly little song, he might as well give the whole thing up and put the piano out on the street. This is easy, he reminded himself and willed his fingers to relax. Turning his head leftward and right, he stretched his neck and let go of the tension enveloping his body. "Easy," he said once more, this time aloud. _Easy. _"...but I ain't lonely."Jack stopped, licked his lips, and heaved a frustrated breath. The sticking point – the stumbling block. His mind had stopped at this bar months ago and had refused to pick up since. Through the silence, he noticed that the pipes were dripping yet again. He could hear them steadily emitting drops in a persistent and even rhythm. Soon, he found himself tapping his foot in time to the droplets. _Drip...drop...drip...drop...drip...drop._ When the glimmer of inspiration sparked and caught fire, Jack was both surprised and thrilled. He started from the top, not bothering to repeat old lyrics, just focusing on the music and trying not to choke once he met the dead end of his previous writings. The notes of the old familiar stumbling block now swelled as Jack played with more confidence, they struck sharp and then descended into the melancholy whisper of "For a dreamer night's the only time of day."

"When the city's finally sleeping….All my thoughts begin to stray…and I'm…" he paused as he tried to conjure up the ending to the next line. "I'm on the plane that's bound for Santa Fe," he added with a smirk. His voice swelled and his playing grew stronger as it hurtled upward toward the song's nearing summit. "And I'm free, like the wind. Like I'm gonna live forever. It's a feeling time can never take away."

He finished the song as quickly as it had begun, the muses singing in his ears all the while. He put it aside as done and sat back, smug and satisfied. Almost immediately another lyric formed in his head. He sung it softly and slowly to himself, considering the weight and musicality of each word before allowing it to drop off of the end of his tongue, "I can't imagine all the places that you go...and the people that you know..." Biting his bottom lip, he thought hard for a second and then plucked out three notes on the piano...and then three more...followed by another two. When he found that if he repeated them the eight in rapid succession, he'd have the backbone of a song, he smiled in satisfaction and settled into his bench, ready to play for hours. Sleet and snow fell all around the city in the weak morning hours, but Jack did not notice. Only aware of his music, his piano, and himself, he scribbled and reworked – tapped his feet and experimented with lyrics. Played his hopes and fears into a graceful melodic existence. The notes, his voice, and his spirits – everything was rising and tipped in gold. He couldn't remember a time when he last felt so fitfully optimistic, and he liked it.

"It's amazing, the look in your eyes...like you could save me..."

Audrey stood in front of the mirror in the dark bathroom. Tired and utterly drained as she was, she knew better than to think that sleep would be soon forthcoming. The door was opened slightly behind her, allowing enough leftover light from the neon glow and approaching sunrise outside her window to filter in. She leaned forward on the sink and stared at the reflection of the hollow eyed girl before her. She raised her bare foot, cold from winter's effect on the tiled floor, and rubbed it against the back of her calf. The face she saw was no more than a child's face really, except perhaps the eyes. Audrey could have possibly had a woman's eyes, but they were so filled with naivety and insecurity that she couldn't tell.

Studying her reflection, she touched her jaw and cheek and quickly realizing their obvious faults, dropped her hand to her side and let her head bow down. The soft, wavering blue light cast favourable shadows and tones of the flesh of her legs. It was then that she decided that maybe there was something truly subtly graceful about the line her calf made when it curved into her ankle and twisted around the other crossed over it. With a second thought, Audrey became very aware that she could never let herself do such a thing. She couldn't fall in like with the line of her crossed ankles, because then she'd sigh over the round tip of her index fingernail. Next would come the reflective quality of her dark eye shade and soon to follow would be the coy droop of her downturned mouth. Pretty soon, she'd have to come to claim that she loved herself in general. Audrey knew with the certainty that she knew she had a left hand that she could never let herself buy into such a blatant fallacy. Believing in lies was no good to her. In a world where time mattered more than breathing, she did not have the time or energy to waste on loving herself.

What was the use of falling in love with something that was fleeting and incomplete? Not a day went past in which she felt whole. Sometimes she felt better and near infinite, but fullness was never something that she could achieve. Yet, the longing for it never went away. Instead, it befriended her and insisted on holding hands with her nearly every moment of the day. In the mirror, she knew it was not herself that she was searching for, but something...anything familiar. It seemed more and more that everything touchable was foreign and growing farther away. Anything close enough and real enough to her was only a voice on the phone line a million miles away. Even experiencing and sharing all that they had the previous night, Jack was still not close enough for her to touch or grab onto. Not close enough for her to really feel.

The answer was probably simpler than she'd ever allow it to be. She needed the world to stop spinning so quickly. She needed something stable to cling to. She needed the perpetual dizzied feeling of school, money, love, and life in a foreign city to cease. But more than anything else, she just needed to feel better. She needed to feel better. From the other room, she could hear the phoning ringing. She cringed at its shrill intonation and clenched her jaw. No, she would no answer it. It could ring into oblivion for all she cared. It wouldn't be for her. It never was. Reaching into the medicine cabinet, she pulled forth her clear orange bottle. That bottle was like home – it was reliable, constant, and familiar in a treacherous world. The phone offered one last ringing desperate plea to be answered and then abruptly stopped. Audrey tossed her head back and held two pink tablets on her tongue. Filling her mouth with scooped water from the sink's running faucet, she swallowed, sighed, and then tried to pick herself up completely in under five minutes. The day and its obligations were calling and she had no choice but to answer.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

_Audrey's Christmas Day was technically spent with Ray's family. They were typically loud and Italian, and she was glad for her mother's blood, which that made her appearance unquestionable. They just accepted her, with her dark hair and slightly olivine skin for one of their own and served her spaghetti at dinner. After dinner, everyone had to partake of Nana's fruitcake, fig cookies, and Torrone. For the most part Audrey enjoyed being around Ray's family – it reminded her of her own so many miles and oceans away. However, when she was finally released, she breathed a sigh of relief and took a cab to Jack's apartment, where he greeted her with open arms, and pulled her into an embrace and inside his door in one swift motion. Later, they sat on the floor to exchange and unwrap their respective presents. Audrey gave Jack a small, framed painting. "I bought it at an undergrad sale," she explained. "It's small, I know. But it's a solid piece of work. I figured you could use it to start your art collection and to fill your bare walls. I was thinking of making you something myself, but then, that seemed...oh I don't know...conceited. I stumbled upon this in between classes – when I noticed that it was called Zero, I knew it was meant for you, being that it was such a Smashing Pumpkins reference. It wasn't signed, so I did a bit of detective work and hunted the girl down like a bloodhound in order to get her to sign it." Audrey smiled impishly at the end of her story and awaited his response. When he only stared at it, she bit her lip and said, "You don't have to like it. I knew it was a risk. So, what? Not your taste?"_

"_No," Jack answered. "It's just that...no one's ever given me anything thoughtful before, much less something potentially valuable." He smirked impishly and gratefully and thrust into Audrey's hands a small, crudely wrapped present with a large glimmering bow atop the package. "Open it," he said and watched as she methodically tore through the wrappings and tape. Freeing a small white box from the red and green paper, she cautiously removed its lid and pulled out a wristwatch._

_It's band was wide and its' predominant colour red on the face and band, except for a few small, silver accents. Her face filled with curious amusement, she let it dangle from her fingers and held it up to the light to get a better look at it. "It's a watch," she said._

"_Yes," he answered. "And a red one at that. There'll be no need for you to keep asking me how late it is- you have that and you can't argue that knowing the time isn't your style anymore." He pointed at the watch that she was still admiring. "It's red and silver – it's exactly your style." _

"_Well," she began, fastening the band onto her right wrist. "I can't argue with you on that. I believe you have me there." She buckled it and threaded the excess through the band. Audrey then held her wrist up for Jack to admire. He nodded in approval and she brought her arm back down into her chest to survey the watch's face once more. "Hey Jack," she said, twisting the little silver know on its right side, "What time is it?"_

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Audrey should have been painting. Even though she was officially on break for school and it was officially the weekend, she knew she should still have continued to paint in order to keep with her momentum and work toward obtaining an edge. Yet, she was vastly not painting. Though a brush was technically in her hand, she held it more like a wand as she stood in second position, stepped out to releve', brought her leg back behind her and then pirouetted two revolutions in the manner that Ray had shown her earlier. She wobbled when she turned and did not like that one bit. Therefore, she set about pirouetting until she could execute at least two times around without faltering. When she the phone rang, she was near mastering it. With a disgruntled sigh, she paused her inner ballerina and answered.

"Hi," said an all too familiar voice. It was accented much like her own tongue, but male. Audrey stopped dead, still with shock and floundering for something to say. In a moment, everywhere she had been transformed and reshaped into everywhere she was currently. A million thoughts quivering overtook her mind, but she couldn't force one of them from her lips. No, she thought. No, no, no, no. It couldn't be happening. She bit her tongue and swung her fist at the air in revolt, but all that came out of her mouth was an overly cheery, "Hiiiii."

"Your Dad gave me this number," the voice continued.

"He always did like you," she finally replied. What does one say to the former love of one's life? She most certainly did not know. What she had given him was just another weak answer, and far more polite than she ever dreamed she'd be to him. Yet, some essence of her resentment remained in that it was spoken through clenched teeth and she knew his sharp ears would immediately pick up on it.

"Ah, I see." The caller paused as though thinking, and then picked the conversation once more with a sharpened accusation. "You didn't tell him, did you?" he asked. His voice was wise, tinged with condescension. He had always known too much of her, more than she'd ever readily given him, and he was steadily proving that fact to her once again.

In the past, small talk had been avoided, put aside as though they spoke three times a day and frequently did lunch. It was fitting, though she thought. The bonds they'd once had in the past had somehow alleviated them from the obligation of ever fumbling through politeness and niceties. Still, she expected something more formal or at least considerate from him. "I couldn't tell him," she bit back. "Michael, what did you want me to do? Huh? He was sick at the time and I didn't want to concern him with things like that. It would have only made him worse off. So, I told him it was mutual. I know it was a bit of a lie, but is that so wrong? He naturally assumed that we remained friends, and I didn't want to upset him by making him believe otherwise. He really liked you, remember?"

"And he couldn't tell?"

"No. I played it off perfectly. I'm good at hiding things when I need to."

"That you are, A."

She rumpled her brow as all of the malice and residue of hurt she felt toward him increased themselves twofold. "I was almost married once," she haphazardly said before. The thought had just rolled off her tongue carelessly without a second thought to the danger or weight of it. Now, she was realizing how much that statement defined her existence. That's what she would always be, she realized – the girl who almost got married and a girl who got so close to something but was always a near miss. He'd been the defining moment of her life and now he was trying to define her once more...or maybe re-define her in ways that she was not willing to allow again. "What do you want?" she asked. "Why are you calling?"

"Don't get so flustered Audrey. I was just calling to see how you were. Aren't old friends allowed to do that?"

Defeated again by his calm unshakable nature, he was up two points on the board while she still nursed a goose egg. "I guess so," she answered, twisting the phone cord around her finger to steady her hand and mind. "Well, if you're wondering, I'm fine."

"Are you?"

She scoffed. "Well, yes. As a matter of fact, I am. You didn't think so? Honestly, you think I'd lie to you?"

"Well, you might. But, ah – I guess you aren't this time. I was just making sure. It was a "making sure" answer, not a questioning one."

Michael was one of those boys that one could not escape. He drew people to him with his sarcastic charms and brooding stares. He was, foremost, an artist who loved his music more than he loved anything human. With roguish good looks, a leather bound journal, a guitar, and a thumb ring, he charmed and won her easily. In their four year gestation in each other's lives, he had opened her mind and changed her – a wayward and carefree girl of fifteen to a grown woman with naivety brimming in her eyes, yet with ideas about art and life and love. She'd wanted to marry him and he always assumed that they would. A promise bring was bought two years after they'd dated. At seventeen, she was ready to commit the whole of the rest of her life to him. However, she did not know then that the little rock set in inglorious yellow gold was nothing more than a leash. She was being kept on retainer for him, so that he'd always have something to come back to. No, she didn't think that that was really his motive when he started out...however, sadly, it was what it grew to be.

As she listened to his smooth, even voice talk of music and the wet Sussex weather, Audrey realized that despite all the time and ocean she'd put between them, he still had that same power over her to make her forget any inkling that she had been angry as spitting hell at him and resolved never to trust him again. In honesty, she really had no feelings toward him any longer. She did not harbour any desire to ride off into the sunset on the back of his white horse, or even to momentarily consider how a life with him might have been. It was just that he had left a deep stain on her life...a mark, a change that would never allow her to exclude him from the fabric of her being. He was too ingrained in her memory and his actions had influenced and altered her to much to try to undo. Though her romantic leanings toward him were gone, she couldn't deny that she'd gotten a little flutter in her stomach when she first heard his voice on the other end. He served as a memory of herself as she had been – nostalgia at its best. She ate up ever bit of reminiscing that he offered her, desperate as she was to find and cling to anything remotely associated with home. At that moment, he meant England to her, so she kept talking to him.

Yet, being English was his only saving grace to her then. With good, came the bad. He talked and talked of happy things and nothing insulting, but somehow still slowly succeeded in coincidentally dredging up a perfect portrait of the last three months they had spent coupled. "You're a scoundrel," she considered telling him. "A rotten one at that. Dirty, rotten, and musical. But the musical part of it doesn't make up for the other two defining characteristics." When the conversation ended, she did not bother to place the phone back on its cradle. No. Instead she laid it down on the bed and then sat down beside it. She felt a fraction of joy well up in her to know that she had finally gotten over wanting to throw herself at his feet every time he made himself available. Yet, the happiness was moreso trumped by the cold, emptiness of regret and helplessness that were infinitely more persistent. She hated herself for being so weak as to let him affect her so deeply. She hated that she had allowed him to affect her in any way at all. Ten thousand piercing and well stated remarks flooded her mind – remarks she could have rattled off to him in conversation. Remarks that would have injured him in a satisfying way if only she could have been a bit quicker on her feet. The receiver emitted a loud, repeatedly broken tone as it begged to be put back where it belonged, but Audrey ignored it. She let her shoulders round and slump and held her head in her hands. She didn't feel whole enough to return to her pirouettes, only broken.

* * *

If you do not usually review, the please, review this time. I find that as school wears on, I get more and more, um...distracted. Therefore, I need all the bloody help I can get. Believe me.

Danke.

**Notes**:

Midnite Vultures is an album by Beck. If you're feeling funky, I suggest getting your hands on it.

**LadyRach:** More comfy cozy Jack and Audrey time. I think that the rise/fall problem with fanfiction relationships has to be one of my biggest pet peeves about them ever. In books and movies, my favourite parts are always the parts that deal with nothing...and yet, at the same time they're dealing with nothing, deal with EVERYTHING at the same time in their simplicity. One of my hugest interest is how relationships between two people work. By this, I mean love relationships, but also parent/child relationships, friend relationships, etc. That's what I set out to be one of the defining characteristics of this story – relationships (along with art, and the great inner conflict and hardship of being twentysomething.) Eh, enough from me on philosophy though. So, yes...shoes! My friend has this great pair of shoes made by this company called "So Pink" or something like that. The shoes have nothing to do with pink, but that is one of the greatest shoe labels I've ever heard.

**Emu:** I always love hearing what you have to say about fiction writing, journals, writing in general because most of the time, you're right on. Therefore, I must say that you were right about Jack. For you reading pleasure, I give you more solo!Jack. And there are parallels between my life and this story. Such an incredibly large number of them. That's why I sometimes post so much in my journal – because I'm trying to get all the writing material for this story out of my head and onto paper/document before I forget it all. And I'm fabulous:blushes:

**Raeghann**: Aw, you're right. I see them now. I haven't gotten a chance to go back and fix the mistakes in the last chapter because school eats my life, but I do have plans to. No smut, nearsmut, or anything of that nature this time, except for a very brief mention of it. This saddens me because anything smut like is oh so much fun to write. Hmmm..perhaps that is why this chapter was hard as hell to write.


	8. weak strong heart

Chapter 8. weak strong heart

In the early morning hours, when night had still not abandoned the city's streets and alleys, Audrey sat still and barely awake at her desk. There was not enough light out yet to be her bedtime and not enough darkness to persuade her to remain awake. Caught in the inbetween of sleep and waking, she instead chose to focus what sight she had left from tired eyes upon a small framed snapshot of herself, with leather jacket-clad Jack at her side. In the matte 4x6, she looked genuinely happy and so did he, as though not a care of the world had ever plagued their young and charmed lives. Wouldn't it be nice to be able to live in happy pictures, she thought to herself. But isn't that what she was doing anyway by painting the said happy pictures she wished to linger in? Upon realizing that she had finally accomplished one small momentary goal, she laughed and chalked it up to progress. "Ha, you have everything you want and don't even know it, you fool girl," she whispered aloud, her sleepy, drawling voice barely penetrating the thickness of the morning's space.

Audrey lit up a cigarette and then leaned back in her chair, resting her head against its back and blowing secondhand smoke straight upward toward the ceiling. She loved this hazy time before dawn and wished that her damned body would have let her enjoy it. Instead, her muscles cramped with fatigue and her eye insisted on remaining only half open and blurred. Regardless of the downside of a five o'clock bedtime, she felt more alive then than she ever did when she woke up at a more humanly hour. With much effort, she blotted out the photographed version of her face with her free thumb and concentrated on Jack. As a repetition and a variation of an exercise in class that they sometimes she concentrated on the crinkle of his eyes, caused by his wide smile, and tried to imagine exactly what shade of what colour Jack Kelly could be described as.

As she examined his familiar face, she could almost hear Michael Crespo as though he sat right beside her. Waxing zen-like in his black sweaters with the sleeves pushed up and black rimmed glasses, her memory of him reconstructed itself in her mind and she heard, "You've got to take it apart and excavate into it to find it's true colour. What it consists of...what makes it alive. Pick it apart, paint over it, scrape it off and do it again. It's the same way with life if you think hard enough about it." Feeling the pressure of him in close proximity, looking over her shoulder and expecting SO much out of her, she reached out her hand and blindly groped for her the journal/sketch diary she was required to keep. Quickly opening it, she sketched a rough, gestural picture of Jack. The lines of his body and tilt of his head were not derived from the picture that sat right in front of her eyes, but from her mind's eye – a not so distant memory of him standing at the bar and leaning on its counter top, one foot flat on the floor and pointed so that only the toe of his worn black boot graced the ground's surface. After she finished detailing Jack's form, across the bottom of the page, she scrawled in loose handwriting, "deep blue." After a moment's observation, she found, oddly enough, that she had drawn Jack with a self satisfied smirk across his face instead of the smile he displayed in the photograph. The two expressions were equally handsome and attractive, but unlike his wide, welcoming grin in the frame, the sketched version of Jack looked at Audrey as though he knew all of her secrets. As though he'd always known them. _Blue always knew this. _It was a familiar comparison, some line she'd heard in a song that popped into her head as she reinforced the line of his profile with her pencil.

Blue always knew this.

With a sigh and reluctance, it was soon back to the watercolour study in progress for the weary, yet stubborn Audrey. When the red paint was out she'd be done for the night, she told herself. At last glance, the red paint was still holding on, but dwindling fast. She sat on the ground, crosslegged and slumped over, dunked her brush into the water and then swirled it around in the red paint. Swish. Brush dripping red puddles onto the floor and paper, she brought it to her painting. The red snaked its way across the paper in a liquidious trail. Some of the sticky thickened watercolour had splattered onto her bare leg in transition. It looked somewhat like blood, Audrey mused. Similar to thousands of other ridiculous, momentary ideas that consumed her mind for seconds of glory, she began to wonder if she were talented enough to mix the exact colour of blood. Always willing to accept a challenge, especially one posed by her own mind, she added more red to her brush and painted it into small puddle across her thigh. For a slightly more metallic iron hue, she thoughtfully mixed in a tinge of burnt sienna.

Her next thought drew something along the lines of "Hmmm. Blue." Therefore, into the blue paint the brush went. With a dash more red, she had created a solution that resembled the colour of blood marvelously. Though, it appeared as though her leg had a watery, gaping cut instead of the tacky, heavy substance that was blood. Perhaps if she added more paint and less water, she could master the sticky consistency. Yes. That was it – more paint. Using the same colour formula and less water, she made more of the mixture and painted into the palm of her hand. When finished, Audrey sat holding a puddle of sticky, red brown, iron infused substance that made her hand resemble that of the stigmatized Christ. Pleased with herself, and too tired to be anything less than amused, she continued, trailing the liquid down her arm and leg.

When Ray burst in through the curtain minutes later, Audrey looked properly blood smattered from nothing less than malicious violence. Jarred from a near somnambulist state of concentration and weariness, Audrey could only stare up at her wide eyed and mouth slightly ajar. However, Raven did not seem to notice. "Oh, you're up. Good," was all that the older girl said upon entrance. "Look, she continued, still appearing not phased by the seemingly violent sight before her. "I just got in and I have another audition and a dance rehearsal later this afternoon. I'm gonna go to sleep, so don't make any noise or anything. Okay?"

Audrey nodded her head in response, still wordless. Ray turned to leave and then stopped. Audrey shifted her gaze downward toward the seemingly bloody state of her skin and then back up to her room mate. Glancing back over her shoulder Ray added, "You gotta work today?" Audrey bobbed her head up and down once more. "Thought so," Ray said as she parted the hanging cloth and let it sway violently in her wake.

Audrey closed her palm around the pool of paint and watered down emotion and dragged her fingers back through the puddle. Blinking twice, she happened to catch the sight of her palette out of the corner of her eye. The red was gone. With one breath in and one out, she ran her tongue over her bottom lip and then reached forward for a rag to clean up the mess she had made.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

"_Hey."_

"_Hi."_

"_What are you doing tomorrow?"_

"_Um, painting."_

"_No you're not?"_

"_I'm not?"_

"_No. You and I have plans."_

"_Oh do we?"_

"_You got that right. Look, come by the apartment tomorrow morning at seven. Don't be late."_

"_Seven? Oh God, Jack-"  
_

"_Seven. No ifs, ands, or buts."_

"_But that's so early...and...and I don't even know where we're going. Where are we going?"_

"_That's a surprise too. Just show up, will ya? And stop asking me a million questions. God."_

"_Alright, alright. Fine. Is that all? Or can you not tell me if that's all or not. Is the possibility of there being more a surprise too?"_

"_Shut up and come. Please. Please? Don't make me have to come down there at nine o'clock in the morning to drag you out of bed and dress you. Because I will, you know."_

"_I know. For the bloody love of God, Jack. I'm not a child. I can do some things by myself. Ugh. It's getting later. If I want to be at your place by nine, I have to go now so I can get some things accomplished. Alright?"_

"_Yeah." _

"_Okay. Well, then, this is goodbye."_

"_Oh! And Audrey?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Pack a bag with a sweater and lunch or something. Anything you need for a day."_

"_Whatever you say, love."_

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Following his instructions exactly, Audrey packed a day's worth of needs in a canvas bag and made the familiar trek over to his apartment at precisely seven in the morning. It was bright and early, but she didn't feel so bright and early herself. Instead she felt achy, fatigued, and sick to her stomach. The strong a.m. had never proven kind to her. She did not become fully lucid until at least twelve, so try as she may, she couldn't even really remember how she'd gotten to his apartment. She was pretty sure she'd taken a bus or something, but couldn't remember a moment of her journey there. Early morning light didn't agree with her, she'd decided. She zipped up her sweatshirt and gathered her hair back with a pink hair rubber as she waited for Jack to answer her knock.

When he swung open the door and saw Audrey standing there with a pathetic, lifeless expression painted upon her face, Jack could only grin as he easily leaned against the door case and took in the sad sight. As he observed her, Audrey pushed up the sleeves of her rumpled sweatshirt with one red glove and then one black and glittered, and twisted around her finger a stray tendril of hair that had worked itself out of the bun that was more on the side of her head than the top. "What?" was her answer to his stare.

"Nothing," Jack replied with a shake of his head. He strode two steps for her and lifted her into his arms. She remained vertical as his limbs grasped around her hips and carried her inside, the top of her head grazing the overhang of the doorcase. "You're a mess," he continued, placing her down once inside and kissing her furrowed forehead. "Don't look so glum. We're going somewhere fun, I promise. I'm not taking you back to school or anything. Stop giving me that look of death."

On the train, Audrey leaned back against Jack and allowed him to cradle her head in the crook of his arm he had rested against the window ledge. He stroked her hair, brushing her bangs back from her forehead and then letting them lightly fall back into her eyes, again and again, and Audrey, though her eyelids drooped tried her best to stay awake as her head gently bobbed with the train's motion. At best, she thought the subway disgusting and vile. Yet, with her legs stretched out on the seat before her and Jack's body acting a warm shield from the world, her surroundings did not seem so terribly unpleasant.

_She was sleepy and in love - the world somehow only seemed tinged a shade of persistent pretty. _

The light inside the car flickered in spastic pulses. It illuminated the back of her closed eyelids so that the vision before her eyes was only a sweet orange glimmer of strobe lit electricity that mimicked the rattle of the train. The tingling of Jack's deft fingertips raking tenderly against her forehead. The soft tickling of her hair falling back onto her face. The hypnotic red gold glow of the light filtering through her translucent eyelids. The rise and fall of Jack's chest against her back and his warmth against her. The smell of soap, Listerine, leather, and memories of cigarettes previously smoked nestled deep into the fibers of Jack's worn bomber jacket. Audrey still had no idea where she was headed, but she found herself concerned less and less as her cares and things on her 'to do' list still undone fade away from existence.

When the train finally pulled into the station and stopped, Jack gently shook her shoulder and whispered into her ear, "C'mon sleepyhead. We're here. Time to get goin'."

Her meditative trance broken, she jerked back into reality as though she had truly been sleeping. "Wuh? Where are we?"

"Well, technically, you're still on the R. But if you'd get a move on, you'd be on Queens Boulevard." He grinned and then sniffed the air, lip curling. "As in, in fucking Queens. Get up lazy girl. Don't make me carry you," Jack told her the reassuring grin of a patient parent dealing with a child. Disoriented, she stood up and rubbed at her eyes. She reached out her hand, seeking Jack's, and he accepted it instinctively. Eyes only halfway open, she followed his path in a childlike manner, allowing him to lead her to the door and outward onto the platform.

One bumpy bus ride later, Jack and Audrey found themselves standing at the cusp of a quaint neighborhood. Jack swung his bag over his shoulder and set about walking down the street with the quick, confident gait of familiarity. Realizing that she was very much being left behind, Audrey quickly trotted off behind him. Once at his side, she did her best to elongate her stride so that she could keep pace with him. They walked along in silence, past mailboxes, driveways, houses, until he slowed to a halt in front of a two story, brick house. As they surveyed the house's font facade, he leaned over and pointed toward the left window of the second floor. It was dark and covered by a blue curtain, but Audrey thought she could make out a sticker with The Smashing Pumpkins' logo in its bottom right corner. "That's my room," he said with a grin and kissed her on the cheek.

"Wait here," Jack told Audrey and left her standing in the driveway of 53 – 43 67th Street. She nodded, and he scampered off toward the house, twisting his key in the lock and running into the house like a little boy eager to enjoy his cookies and milk after school. She stood awkwardly, her arms crossed over her chest and her right foot uncomfortably stretched around and rubbing the back of her left thigh. Stiffly waiting, Audrey anticipated that either a gray haired neighbor lady or one of Jack's parents would come outside and ask her just wait the hell she was doing in such a neighborhood. Jack told her that his neighbors were rough on foreigners and chose to look down upon anyone if they hadn't become well acquainted with them. Minutes later, he emerged from the side door with a grin, shaking a ring of keys in front of him and bidding her to come over to the silver Saturn sedan he was unlocking. She did so but hesitantly. Walked over to him with an unsure, but steady step, flung open the car door and climbed inside. Upon entry, Jack thrust a bag of cookies into her hands.

"What is this?" she asked, fingering the baked goods and confused as hell.

"It's for you, I guess. Ma left them on the counter next to the keys with a note saying that she made them for you and hopes you like peanut butter." He shrugged. "That's my ma for you. Noticed how she baked her ass off for you, a girl she's never met...but for her own son – not a damn thing." He shot her and impish grin and then stretched his arm around the back of her seat and turned his head to look over his shoulder as he backed down the driveway. He reached out and lightly, but firmly pushed her head slightly forward. "Baby, watch your head, I can't see the road outta your window."

_Baby._ "Hmm," she thought and grinned at him, shifting the gift of bagged peanut butter cookies from hand to hand. So much said in those four letters he had just let roll off of his tongue so naturally. She hadn't mustered up enough trust or let go enough to attach herself to him to a point where she felt she could call him by the same term of endearment. But she thought it fit well on her when it him that placed it there. No, on second thought...she didn't mind at all.

As they sped down the road, heads full of fresh anticipation and speakers full of the Mellon Collie, Audrey, suddenly filled with some strange or devious spirit, rolled down her window. In one swift movement she removed her seatbelt and flung her head out of the car. The wind immediately hit her square in the face. She steadied herself and slowly opened the lids of her eyes until she was somewhat able to see around her while, the cold gusts whipped her hair out behind her and bit into her skin like fire ants. But if asked, Audrey would always describe that moment as one where she felt infinite. Immediately sensing the danger in her reckless action, Jack grabbed the tail of her sweatshirt and tugged it, pulling her back to him. He divided his attention between her and the road, trying to force her back within the safe confines of the car while swerving out of the path of mailboxes and oncoming cars. Back and forth, back and forth, from the road to Audrey and back, he shifted his head and eyes. "Audrey," he said sternly. "Get back in the car. Audrey!" Jack pulled at her shirt determinedly, but she would not budge and he could adjust his arm to get a proper grip on her to bend her to his will. However, she was not so willing to bend, if bending meant sacrificing her intoxicating rush of freedom and danger. Grasping the seat with one hand and anchoring it enough to keep her balanced, she flung her arms out of the window and let it ride on the up and down current of the wind's undulating gusts. It was the first time she had felt alive all week.

"Audrey!"

Finally, he was able to get a handle on driving and maneuver over toward her – pressing the accelerator with his left foot, scooted over in his seat, and his weight leaning toward her, he braced his arm against the seat and executed one good, swift pull. She relented and the car swerved a little with the recoil of shifted force as she returned all of her limbs and appendages to the safety of the car. Her face was stung red and her hair a windblown mess, but her eyes were wild and dancing with excitement. With one glance at her, a statement that Jack's father had often told to him in his troubled teenage years of dating instantly came back to mind. Sam Kelly always used to tell his son that "Girls are like facets of the same jewel...each one different but cut from some special cord that makes them different and better than we are." As he surveyed the elegantly incised mess in the seat beside him, Jack wondered now just what sort of strange facet this girl was, and who had been daring or crazy enough to cut her that way.

"That was bloody brilliant," she told Jack, in a breathless whisper, to which he simply rolled his eyes and bit back a good strong reprimand.

"That was dangerous – that's what that was," he muttered back to her. "Stickin' your head out of windows into oncoming traffic...my God, Audrey..."

As she chided her, she tried her best to look somewhat penitent, but face and nostrils burning from the cold air, and lungs tightened from the shock, the rush of wind, all she could do was let the her pleasure bleed out from her pores and cover her skin and eyes with a new glow of mischief and some unknown triumph. Yet, she sat still in her seat, with chest heaving and a laugh caught in the back of her throat. She looked at Jack, he viewed her with almost parentally mature interest. "You done with that? You got that out of your system?" he asked. She nodded, calmly patted down her hair, straightened her shirt, and crossed her legs to convince him that she was serious. "Okay, like I was sayin', Rocky I ends with Rocky having a title fight with Apollo and barely losin'. Apollo was, of course, the huge favourite – so he just had to win..."

Audrey turned her gaze and attention out of the window and let Jack carry on with his story. She wasn't much on movies that had anything to do with boxing, much less Sylvester Stallone, but she liked to hear that little sparkle of joy that came into his voice whenever he really got going about something that he loved. Therefore, she listened to him with as much interest as she could muster, which was about a fourth of her total gross interest, and let her eyes trace over the outlines of the trees and cars blurring past her on the outside. "Rocky II starts where he's got money," Jack continued. With his eyes on the road, he couldn't really tell if she was paying him attention or not. But she was silent and not trying to interrupt or talk over him with something she felt was more intriguing and significant, so he babbled on before she changed her mind. "So he's retired, Adrian's pregnant, doing the family man thing...blah, blah, blah. He does commercials, but that doesn't work out because he's dumb and can't read so good. So, he gets this job in a meat packing plant, but, Apollo is tryin' to call him out of retirement 'cause he wants to prove that Rock's performance was just a fluke'." Jack snuck a quick glance over at his girlfriend to see if her eyes had glazed over or maybe she had fallen asleep. Noticing that she had done none of the above, and that she didn't appear to be tortured by his recount so very much, he shrugged and set about telling her the continuation of Rocky Balboa's plight. "And Rocky, he uh...well, he wants to box but Adrian says no. Mick begs him to train him, so Rocky finally decides to do it."

Coming to the most pivotal point in the movie, he reached for the radio knob and turned down Billy Corgan's screeching vocals so that he could be heard. "But he isn't doing it right, Mick gets pissed. Then Adrian has the baby and Rocky has to stop. Finally, there is this great scene where Adrian is in the hospital. She tells Rocky, "Just win." And Mick says, "WELL, WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR?" Then Rocky trains his ass off. Hey, you over there...you following?

Audrey snapped her head around and gave Jack and impish grin. "Yes, boy, I'm following. It isn't exactly a difficult thing to understand." She gave him a sly wink. "I don't know what the point is or why you're telling me this, but I do understand it."

"Because you need to know. Everyone needs to know about Rocky. It's like knowing about life." He sighed in frustration. "Rocky is a part of me, okay? I like Rocky. I identify with him and all..I wanna tell you about Rocky."

"Okay, love," Audrey said and surrendered to listening. Perhaps telling her about Rocky was Jack's way of communicated something deeply personal that she didn't quite understand. But whether or not she understood, Audrey decided that it was more important to just try to listen, even if she really didn't care one bit about what he was saying.

"Anyway," Jack continued, "then they go like fifteen rounds or something and are beating the living shit out of each other. In the last round, Apollo just has to hold out because he has more points and would win by decision. But Apollo wants to knock him out, so Rocky starts wailing on him. So eventually they both fall down at the same time. But you see, Rocky gets up before the ten count and Apollo doesn't. Rocky is the champion, but he's all fucked up. So, he says, "Yo Adrian, I did it." And that's pretty much the end. You can stop being bored now."

"Huh?" Audrey turned to him, feigning an impression that she had listened to not a word he had said. Jack scowled. To this, Audrey laughed. "I've been listening," she said. "I promise I have." He nodded his head sarcastically, and refocused his attention on his driving. Turning the music back up to its original booming volume, he bobbed his head slightly and mouthed the words to a lyric as he looked over his left shoulder and changed lanes.

As he turned back around to face the road, the sunlight hit his face perfectly and illuminated the strong line of his profile and shone through his hair. It was then that everything came together in Audrey's mind and she formed one complete, pure, and definite thought regarding the boy that occupied her space, life, and heart. She wanted to bury herself in him. Completely. Nothing was close enough, at that moment she realized. Nothing would ever be. Of all things she could have done at that time to manifest the growing sentiment within her, she was at a loss for which to do. Yet, he was driving and for their safety, she could only stare. So staring she chose. Jack seemed to not notice the soft, affected look in her dark eyes and the partial tilt of her head, leaning toward the glint of his affections. "Stallone wrote Rocky I in three days," he continued. "He wrote it down after he'd saw a match where a little white guy was in a fight with Mohammed Ali and put up a good show. Have you seen the first one?" he asked. Barely hearing him and too lost in the fitting together of her pieces and the softening of her angles, Audrey could only slowly shake her head in dissent. The fact that she could quite possibly be in love with him becoming ever more present and undeniable. "Aw! I can't believe that! You've gotta see it. It won an Oscar and everything!" Jack exclaimed. "And what's best is that they make it in like two fucking weeks." She reached over and ran her hand down his leg and to the hand he rested on his knee, threading and weaving her fingers into his. It wasn't good enough to define the moment or accurately describe the rush of emotions that were coursing through her, but it was all that could be done, so it had to do.

"Two fucking weeks, huh?" she said.

"Yeah. Two fucking weeks." Jack laughed and leaned over to twist a small switch. Audrey watched him set the cruise control in a way that was so nonchalant and ordinary that it almost went unnoticed. However, while her eyes swam over that little flick of his hand, Audrey realized that she could not deny that she was completely in love with him in a way that she had possibly never experienced before. Not during the four years of Michael. Not with anyone. At that moment, she was completely sober and untouched – her judgment or appreciation not hindered by any outside source. At that moment, she knew that she was helplessly in love with him and terrified that he was going to leave her.

On the car ride home, Jack slept as the night sky went racing by. He'd entrusted the care of his unconscious body and his parents' car to Audrey, making sure to give her implicit instructions on how to get back before easing into a gentle sleep. Not that she'd needed the directions. She'd formed a perfect picture in her mind of how they'd gotten there, and to remember how to get back, she simply visualized the picture and imagined the scenery going in reverse. While he slept, she stole glances at him and used the silent driving time to clear her mind and figure things out. She quietly hummed "Pink Moon" and wished once more that she could actually see the moon clearly, or even one definite star. For not the first time since she'd been living in New York, Audrey felt that perhaps she was only a foreigner in some other girl's paradise – an imposter in this country she inhabited in the state and state of mind that she dared to call her own. If she were the type of girl to own a cellular phone, right that instant, she would have phoned Kit, Livvy, Tess, or someone back home to ask them if they could see stars...or if there really were any stars. It seemed to her, that she'd gone so long without them, that it'd be so very easy for her to think that they were only happy delusions of make-believe in her mind. Antiquated dreams that once sparkled, but now had dried up completely.

What was becoming of the world she knew, she wondered. As if on cue, Jack moaned and stirred from his unconscious state. He rolled over to face her and cracked his eyes open slightly, licking the taste of sleep off of his lips with one tongue pass and throwing her a lopsided grin. "Hey," he said, groggily.

"Hey," she returned. "Have a nice sleep?"

"Oh yeah, the best ever...that you can get in an uncomfortable car seat on a bumpy, curvy road." With some effort, he sat up in his seat and propped his body up with his hand on the seat. "How close are we to getting back?" he asked.

"About thirty minutes," she answered, eyes on the road before her.

True to her word, they pulled up into the driveway of Jack's parent's house within the thirty minute range. Soon, after bus and train, they were back in the city and Jack dropped Audrey off at her door with a goodnight and a goodnight kiss. Upon opening her door, she found her apartment dark and nearly untouched. "Ray?" she called out. "Ray!" But there was no answer. Of course, Audrey thought. Raven was at her boyfriend's house. It was really nothing uncommon anymore for Audrey to come home to an empty house and a missing room mate. Jokingly, she had once jested that Raven change her mailing address to Spot's because it would save her the hassle of making the trip across town to check for her mail. As days went past, Audrey began to think that perhaps her statement had more truth in it than jest. She threw her bag to the ground near the door, without a thought of bothering to unpack that night. Stripping off her clothes, she made her way to her bed in underwear and slipped on a t-shirt that Jack had accidentally left still smelling of him on his last visit. There was work to be done, far more work than she cared to think of. But Audrey as she dug her way beneath her cool sheets, she decided firmly against attempting any of that load of work within the next five hours. As she slept alone that night, both in bed and in the apartment, Audrey felt as though Jack were still with her, holding her as she cuddled close to her blankets and finally slept.

"Can I get a Zima?"

Jack smirked as he heard those words. How often he'd heard that one little question while standing behind the bar of the Spanish Moon, he didn't know. He finished toweling off a highball and then set it down on his bar. _Zima_ – the token standard of sorority girls, faux sophisticates, and featherweights everywhere. From the sound of the inquirer's high pitched voice, Jack guessed that she could have met any or all of the three requirements. He raised his eyes to find an expectant blonde in a hot pink top and impatience written all over her face standing with hand on hip beside a red head. Of course, he thought. The red haired one looked a tad younger than the blonde, but he guessed that was only because she was more wide eyed and less made up. Still, with all of their grown up airs and powdered noses, his quick visual examination of them told him that they were most probably not of age.

"Okay," Jack said, leaning forward and resting his palms against the counter. He stole a quick glance to their wrists. No bracelets. Eyebrows raised, he wiped his hands on his pants and asked, "Can I see some ID?"

"Oh," the blonde one said, voice falling. She quickly referenced her friend, turning toward her and making a rectangle with her fingers. "I left mine in the car. Did you bring your ID?" Her red-haired friend shook her head. "Well, nevermind," the blonde said and with a dismissive wave of her hand turned to go.

"Sorry ladies," he called out to them. But instead thought, "Uh huh. No ID, my ass. You're underage and you know it. Don't pull that on me, I tried to pull it too many times myself." Jack smugly picked up another glass and proceeded to give it a good drying, whistling a slower version of "I Get Along" and thinking about his next cigarette break. Glancing up, he spotted a familiar face among the hazy light reflected off of the smoke, the sea of bobbing heads, and the exposed pipes and columns of the bar's structure. The face emerged from the crowd, nodded hello to Jack and said, "Well, if it isn't Jack Be Nimble, Jack Be Quick..."

"Why do ya sound so surprised to see me here? You always see me here?" Jack responded with laugh.

Skittery drew closed with a casual gait, and coolly leaned on the bar as he dispassionately flicked a cigarette to the floor and stubbed it out with his shoe. "I don't know Cowboy. I guess you just look regal or something, standing behind that bar tonight."

"Yeah, look at me," Jack put the glass down and spread his arms open as he appealed to his friend with sideways tilt of the head. "I'm the king of New York." He laughed at the irony of his statement, Jack Kelly working his life away behind that scummy bar for peanuts and pennies just so he could keep his dump of an apartment and pay to go to school and be told he was wrong about everything. He rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand and still lighthearted, pointed to the discarded stub and sarcastically noted, "And by the way, we have ashtrays around for that, man."

"Oh," Skittery replied, looking apologetic and sheepish. "Sorry man, I forgot."

"Well, it's not a big deal to me anyway. I'm not the one who's gotta pick it up. So, what's shakin' Skitts? Anything new and exciting?"

"Same old, same old," Skittery replied, scanning the crowd and lazily scratching at the tattoo underneath the left sleeve of his t-shirt. "What the hell is this that they're playing?" he asked, cringing. "I thought this was a bar that played rock music. Not techno alt country shit."

Jack shrugged. "I dunno man, I just work here. Besides, I wouldn't be complaining too much if I were a member of the band that cancelled at the last minute and is responsible for the playing of this very piece of rotten music."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Skittery returned, promptly flipping Jack off and rolling his eyes with disdain. "Clay's sick...what do you want us to do? Play our guitars with one hand and beat on a drum with the other? No. Sorry Jack, but it just doesn't work that way. Gimme a beer."

Jack reached under the counter and produced a green bottle, which he promptly slid to his friend. "I'm tabbing you for this. No more freebies," he told him.

Skittery shrugged and took a swig of his drink. Snapping the cap between his thumb and forefinger and watching it spin across the worn wood of the bar, he asked, "So...are you...uh...looking forward to spring break?"

Jack laughed. "That's months away. I'm just concentrating on getting through this break without spendin' all of it workin' like a slave. Do you know they've got me here practically every night next week? Motherfuckers. Nah, Spring Break's probably gonna be like another week long work fest. It's near enough to finals to make me crazy. I'm lookin' forward to graduation. That's what I'm lookin' forward too."

"Damn. That is forward."

"Only a year and a half away," Jack offered, with a hint of the wistful quixotic in his voice.

"Ha. I should be one to talk. I've got no clue when I'm getting out. With this little haitus I'm on, Mary Claire will graduate before I do." One long drink later, Skitts brought his bottle back to the bar in front of him with a distinct clank. "And that's pathetic when your baby sister passes you up," he added. "So, you heard any more about that scholarship?"

"No, not yet. The waiting is killin' me though. I wish they'd just figure it out and tell me that I didn't get it because I'm not good enough so I can stop holding out for nothing. That's what's gonna happen, you know. They make me wait all this time just to trick me into thinking that I've got a shot. I'd know by now if I would have gotten it. I'm just waiting for that stupid little 'thanks for applying' letter to find its way into my mailbox."

"That's what you think happened?" Skittery asked, skeptically.

"Yeah, that's what I think. That last interview was a little iffy. I don't think they liked my shoes or something," Jack quickly rattled off in self defense. He heard Skittery mumble something about being too quick to be too cynical and Jack scoffed. "Cynical?" he asked in mild disbelief. "No, realistic is more like it. I'm being realistic, because I've got a hopeless grip on reality. I can't help it. I was born into it or something."

"Oh ye of little faith," his friend answered. A wise smile came over his face, but he didn't care to explain himself. Skittery contented himself with a shrug and a sip of his drink and Jack was left to wonder the meaning of his confident statement and make due with what he given.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

_Boys..._

are often so hard to read because they tell you exactly what they're thinking and do exactly what they mean to do, but girls overanalyze it in this heads and become blind to all of it. Nicole noted this as offhandedly as though she were talking about the weather and flipped another page of National Geographic. "Oh look, she said, "Pictures of the war in Iraq..." She turned to the cover of the magazine and continued, "In 1992. Hmm...still no different today. We haven't made an inch of progress. Audrey, why do you HAVE this?"

"Because it has some great photographs of sky towards the back that I want to use for painting references," Audrey mumbled distractedly as she stepped back to survey the line of blue she had just swiped across her painting. "I stole it from the doctor's office. It was way in the back of their magazine rack. Being that it's over ten years old, I didn't think they'd mind. Bloody fucking hell...blue! Why blue? Why did I think that blue was the God damn universal answer?"

"Because you're crazy and delusional," Nicole offered without a blinking or missing a beat. She turned the pages causally, giving each page a bored once over. Suddenly, she stopped, closed the magazine, and glanced up toward Audrey curiously. "Wait, why were you at the doctor? Are you okay?" Nicole used the word "okay" as though she it were a well thought out second choice. It was enough to give away to Audrey that her first instinct would have probably been to go with "sick" or "what's wrong with you?"

Therefore, "for things," came her quick reply. "Allergy medication. Refills." She cautiously placed her blue stained brush down, and uneasily wandered to another project. Her actions were unsure and a bit forced, as though trying to divert Nicole's attention away from the conversation at hand by moving to a different area of the room and a different task. Kneeling on the floor, and biting her tongue for concentration's sake, she instead set about pulling taut a corner of canvas and firing off a staple through it and into the wood of the stretcher bar. "Hey, I'm sorry you have to sit here and watch me do this. I know it's got to be mind numbing, but I warned you that I'd be doing this at least until five," Audrey apologetically mumbled.

"It's okay," Nicole answered. "What did I have to do at home anyway? Nothing. Movie's at seven forty. I'm not worried."

Audrey looked up from the undone canvas and staples and noticed that the magazine was opened once more and spread out upon Nicole's lap. She breathed a little easier, confident that she had successfully led her friend's attention astray from something she had no desire to discuss. Moments passed in the silence of leaves of paper crinkling and turned before she set in one more staple and then tapped the heads of the ones high than the rest with a hammer. "There," Audrey said, tossing the hammer aside. "I'm done with that, I think." Popping up into a stance, she headed into the hall closet. "Just let me get dressed in something that's completely not paint friendly and we'll get going."

As Audrey searched in her closet to find something to suit her momentary tastes, Nicole called out to her, "So, I saw Dan the other day."

"Yeah? How was that?" was the response from inside the closet.

"Okay, I guess. It was kind of weird. I don't know if he really likes me. Likes me in a genuine way, I mean. Not in a 'keep him from boredom, pass the time' sort of way. How did you first know that Jack liked you? I mean, know. Not had a feeling or thought that perhaps he did."

Audrey emerged holding a black shirt, a skirt draped over her bent arm and walked toward her desk. "Oh, Jack was obvious. He just up and told me from the get go." She opened the first drawer on the left and fished inside of it. "After that, it just all worked itself out. Now, though it's only been a little while, he's scarily in tune with me. The boy reads me like a book and knows what I'm going to say before I say it. I don't think I could fool him if I tried." Her forehead wrinkled and she quickly added, "I mean, with most things. Aha!" A smile lit her face as she triumphantly plucked up a shiny fifty pence coin and her lighter. She held up the coin to let Nicole see it. "This," she said, has never steered me wrong. It always tells the truth." She held it between her thumb and forefinger and struck a flame from her lighter underneath it, heating both sides.

"Ummm, okay. What are you doing?"

"Burning off any of its past decisions so that it's new for you," she said and shrugged. "I guess I'm weird that way, but you don't want a coin that comes with excess baggage, do you? Here madam, have a dose of fate." Audrey reached out and pressed the newly purified coin, still somewhat hot, into her friend's open palm. "Now, ask it a question, flip it and it will tell you your answer. Heads is always yes and tails always no. That way you'll know for sure once and for all whether or not you're wasting your time with that Dan boy."

Nicole accepted Audrey's offering with a perplexed expression and a bit of hesitation. "Does this...um...work?" she asked haltingly.

"Depends on what you're trying to use it for," Audrey called out behind her as she disappeared into her closed. Returning seconds later with a sweater, she found Nicole still gazing skeptically downward at the coin that she turned between her fingers. "Well, it certainly won't work if you don't use it," she remarked, hands on hips. "Go ahead, ask it what you want to know. It will give you an unaffected answer, I promise. The coin never lies."

Still looking unsure, Nicole shrugged her shoulders and rubbed both sides of the coin between her fingertips. She sighed and squinted her eyes shut as though mentally placing a wish upon one of its two sides. "Alright," she said aloud and then propelled it up into the air with a flick of her thumb. Catching it and turning it over onto the back of her hand with smack, she cautiously removed her fingers to reveal the answer that the coin, fate, or God himself had bestowed upon her. "Hmmm," she mumbled. "Well, that turned out okay. That was just a warm up though."

"What you'd ask it?"

"If you were crazy. It told me yes, but I already knew that," Nicole said with a sarcastic grin.

"Ha ha ha ha," Audrey said whirling away from her friend to return to her closet to seek out shoes. Her path was interrupted by the left side of her painting that caught and sought her immediate attention. As she surveyed it, and smudged a section's outline with her finger, Audrey found herself enthralled in it once more, and could not pry herself away from the easel. She picked up a two inch brush and set about working the white paint into the surface of blue once more. Meanwhile, she could hear Nicole ask aloud, "So, will I get an A on my applied physics test?" Her question was followed by a ping, a pause, and then a satisfied giggle. Audrey smirked and then went back to painting, her brushstrokes set to the melody of questions, pings, and responses – either celebratory or disgruntled. In this way, Nicole continued on for a solid fifteen minute block. After a while, Audrey hardly noticed that she was even there, her mind having grown accustomed to the noises and interpreting them now only as background music.

However, her ears were distinctly pricked when she heard Nicole's voice ring out loud and clear when it said, "Audrey you work too much." Audrey laughed to herself at her friend's comment, but felt a slight queasiness in her stomach at what simple action she foresaw would come next. Sure enough, the next words to come out of Nicole's mouth were exactly what Audrey had expected. "Hmmm...will Audrey be a famous, or semi-famous, or at least locally well known artist?" She heard the ting of the coin being plucked end over end into the air and braced herself, unwilling to move or scarce breathe, until it hit the ground. She heard the dull thud of the metal on the carpet rug upon which Nicole sat, and then an influx of silent stillness filled the room. When she heard the second distinct ping of the question being posed to the fifty pence once more, she didn't wait until it hit the ground before she mumbled in a low, yet distinguishable voice, "It doesn't work if you do it twice. It doesn't tell you anything if you ask it again. The second time doesn't count." She turned around to face her friend, and in doing so, the light in her eyes must have been tinted with pained confusion, for Nicole's own eyes grew wide and knowing.

"Oh, love, I'm sure it doesn't mean anything," Nicole quickly explained in a fast, slightly overly reassuring voice. "It's just a silly piece of metal that you can buy things with that cost...fifty pence or whatever. You don't really believe in this thing, do you? Audrey?"

Audrey only laughed and shook her head. "Love..." she said. "You got that from me." She whirled back around to turn her attention to her art with a smile painting on her face, but she could feel it start to betray her and leave as soon as she couldn't feel Nicole's eyes on her. Free from the gaze of another, her facade softly crumbled. Just as though she were in a movie, Audrey could hear the nonexistent piano that soundtracked her life hit one mournful note on the lower register. Immediately, she felt a pang of slight sickness enter her stomach. Next, her chest felt bruised and hollow, as if her heart had been pricked by the coins answer and then had emptied itself in a futile effort preservation. "The coin never lied," she had told Nicole and now herself. Hand slightly shaking, she dipped her favourite brush in red paint and brought its tip to meet her canvas.

"What kind of crazy person keeps working through her winter break?" Nicole called out.

"This crazy person," Audrey responded distractedly, rubbing her brush on a rag and deciding that perhaps red was a mistake. She had tried not to let any sign of the slightest change in her behaviour show through, but was frightened that her voice had slightly wavered upon her answer. She wanted to explain her sudden change of spirits to her friend...wanted to say, "If you only knew me." But then, she thought perhaps that Nicole did know her in the sense that her observant nature and trained eye caught everything and interpreted even the slightest of actions into their true meanings. Therefore, she'd settle for compensating with a bit of intentional happiness and turning around to smile at Nicole to say, "Sorry."

"Yeah, well, like I said, it's not like I had anything else to do after work. If I went home and sat there, I'd just feel the need to start a new project and that's not healthy. Also, you were on my way, and I didn't see the sense in going alllllll the way back home just to come right back here in an hour." She became engrossed in the open magazine sitting beside her and with a pointed finger, traced the coastline in a glossy picture of South Korea. "You have studio hours? That's discipline. I wish I was as focused as you are."

Audrey flopped down on her bed, hands paint stained and half dressed. She had given up on painting today, not willing to suffer another crippling defeat. She twisted a strand of her hair around her finger and stared out of the window, a bit uncomfortable with meeting the other girl's eye. "Oh, don't think that I'm focused. You are definitely more focused than I am. I have to set studio hours and stick to them because if I don't, I'll just wander around and take lots of breaks and drink tea and never get anything done. At least you have the will power to actually sit down for an extended period of time and get something accomplished."

"Bah," Nicole returned. "I only get done what I have to get done and only when I have to do it. But it's just school. College is really not to be taken as seriously as we make it out to be. It takes up for years of our life – only four. We get in...we learn...we get out. You don't do anything that will change the world or even your future in a big way. Our lives are made up of nothing right now. If you just think about it that way, then, we all could see how much it won't matter in a few years." She punctuated her sentences with the sharp, crisp, snapping sound of leaves turning. Audrey started a little at every new page.

Still focused out of the window, Audrey shook her head slowly. "No, all that matters is right now because it's all that I've got. That's how you and I are different, Nic. You have a future and a well planned out one. I have to life in today because my way of life won't let me do anything but. That's how art is, so that's how my life has to be. You're always a slave to what you love. So, my current nothings are everything to me. You should know that by now." She stole two glances out of either corner of her eye, one to Nicole and the other to her half-started painting. Audrey sighed. "Just think," she continued, "Right now, there are kids who are five years younger than me who are making it big. They're getting center spreads in Art in America, and other mags like that. Their shows are selling out and selling out fast. They're geniuses in their own right, but that's because they work - they work hard and constantly. They're fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. I'm nearing twenty one every day, but hating more and more how I've done nothing with twenty."

Nicole closed the magazine and smoothed the cover with her hands, grinning and looking impressed. "Wow, A. You're more serious than I am. That was quite some speech."

"Yeah, well I've been practicing. With all of this wasting time I do, it affords me a good deal of time to think and figure things out." She popped up to a stand and headed back toward her open closet to finish readying herself. "I'm not good at rock climbing or chess or music or anything like that. Just school and art. Those two things are all that I do, so they fill up my life. And when I get proven unworthy in those things, I just feel...well, like shit. Because this is what I do. This is my life, and sometimes, I'm sorry that I've built such a shaky fortress around it. But it's my only fortress and it's too late to turn back now. So I have to make do. I just want everything. Is there something so wrong with that?" Tugging a shirt over her head, Audrey stepped out of the closet and emphatically untucked her hair from her collar and looked to Nicole with a somewhat desperate impassioned expression.

"No, love," Nicole answered gently. "There's nothing wrong with that."

At that moment, the door swung open with a loud aching creak, and in walked Raven, purse draped sloppily over her shoulder, shopping bag in hand, and sullen expression on face. Audrey and Nicole's heads both snapped around toward the door to watch Ray as she plodded in with a slow sauntering step and with a heaving sigh, placed her shopping bag on the counter with a loud thump. She roughly swept the hair off of her forehead with a sulky brush of the back of her hand and kicked her heels off one, then the other.

"Hello, Madame Ray Ray," Audrey cheerily greeted her. "What have you got in your magic bag." The split second change in demeanour caused Nicole to recoil a little in shock. Perplexed, she gave Audrey a concerned, yet quick once over and turned her gaze back to the newcomer.

Ray looked up, not frowning or shooting off some violent red threat as Audrey had expected. Instead, she maintained the weary expression she had walked in with and lightly ran her tongue over her top teeth. Wordlessly and swiftly, she picked up her paper Barney's shopping bag and overturned it onto the surface in front of her, spilling out its contents. She gave it a good shake to make sure nothing had lodged and lost itself in the bottom and then, satisfied, flippantly tossed the bag to the floor.

"What the hell is all of that?" Nicole asked, surveying the odds and ends splayed out before her.

"This?" Raven asked, gesturing toward a blow dryer complete with a diffuser attachment. To which Nic nodded hesitantly, uncertain of exactly what kind of answer would be following. To her surprise, Raven responded in a very strange sort of way. First she lifted her right hand up, open palmed as though she might be waving. Then she closed the hand in half, pressing her index and middle finger to her thumb. She then opened the hand slightly, and in a high pitched, singsong sort of voice, the opening and closing of the hand marking each syllable, Raven said, "Spot, what are you doing over there? Are you reading in the dark?"

Next her left hand rose to meet its counterpart and imitated its gesture. Raven cleared her throat and opened the hand as she answered in a gruff, forced voice, deeper and more masculine than her own, "I'm not readin' in the dark. I can see perfectly fine. Leave me alone."

Not to be so easily ignored, the right hand replied, in its same sweet falsetto, "But Spot, it's really dim in here, and I heard that reading in the dark like that can strain your eyes. Here, I'll just get up and go turn the lights on for you."

"No!" the left replied in a roar. "I'm fine. Stop nagging me."

"But I'm not nagging you," Raven's right hand calmly assured its partner. "I'm just trying to help you. It's no big deal. I can turn it on for you."

"I said no, and I mean fuckin' no."

"But Spot..."

"No. What's your problem? If I wanna read in the dark until my God damn eyes bleed and go blind, I'll do it. It's my fucking house, and I'll do what I want."

"But I was just trying to help," the right hand softly insisted.

Curtly, the right cut her off. "Well, you're not," it bit back gruffly.

"Okay..." she mouthed gently. The two hands closed their "mouths" momentarily, while Ray looked up at her strangely captivated audience. She uttered a quiet, scoffing sort of laugh and then continued about her charade. Her left hand opened and began to talk in its low, emasculated voice, "Oh, that bag over there's for you. You left some stuff over here, so I packed it up for you. Figured you'd want it back." With that comment, Raven let loose her hand puppets and gestured toward the mound of objects scattered before her. She shrugged and rolled her eyes in disdain, but ended up laughing at the little production she staged, her mound of belongings, and the absurd little nothings that made up her very life. "Sooo...that was my day," Ray said. "Where are the two of you headed?"

"Out," Audrey answered. She slipped on her last black sequined flat and added, "And you should come."

Ray twisted her mouth to the side, mulling over the decision in her mind. Her eyes looked to the left, and then to the right – a visual scale weighing out her two choices hastily. "Let's see...I could go out with you guys or stay here, eat a lot of ice cream, and sulk until that boy gets over himself and calls." Quickly ruling out the latter of the choices, she said brightly. "Does where you're going have a tacky disco ball, by any chance."

Nicole answered, "No, but it does seem like a tacky movie."

Raven smiled winningly and held up her hand. "Sold," she said. She gathered up her bag and a brand new posture and smoothed her skirt, ready to join her friends. As they walked out together, she mused, "Do you even know why he was sitting in that dark apartment? Because he forgot to buy his damned replacement light bulbs and was too lazy to go out and get some."

"What?" Audrey asked, removing her keys from the bowl beside the door and slipping on her coat. "Did he expect you to go out and buy some for him? You of all people? Tsk tsk. He should know better than to expect that of you. I could have told him that."

"Shut up, Audrey," Ray moaned and slipped out of the door. "You always say too much."

Audrey smiled and stepped out behind Ray and Nicole. She caught the door knob in one hand, and as she closed it behind her, reached out to flick the lights off. As she did, she felt the uneasy feeling return to her stomach as she recalled the events of the few moments previous. Such a small instance, but yet, it seemed as though her world had crashed down around her a little. _Leave. Leave now and don't think about it_, she told herself and took one more step out of the apartment. Just before she swung the door closed, she caught a whiff of a barely nonexistent trace of soap, smoke, and leather and thought of Jack. Uneager to think about how she was going to save her art career or build herself up for the coming semester, Audrey instead let her mind drift back to two days before.

_She laid on the ground beside Jack on a blanket his mother had been wise enough to leave in the car for them. Hand in hand with him, she gazed up at the night sky and missed the punctured holes of light that pierced stars into the blackness. Audrey thought back to Brighton, with its rain, comfort, and endless sea of stars, and became instantly nostalgic. Yet her heart was not allowed to ache for long. For just as her mind started drifting over land and sea in an eastward direction, Jack immediately rescued her wandering spirit with self deprecating tales of himself as a disobedient, but well intentioned child, told with a warm voice and a even warmer touch. _

_Jokingly, Lute had once posed the question to Audrey and her friends of "How could one be lonely in a city of millions and millions?" At the time, Audrey felt particularly weak and volatile: if given the chance, she would have answered that it was all too simple how one could feel isolated and solitary, even among close friends. But as she lay on the cold ground with Jack, underneath a desperately starless sky, she somehow did not feel so very alone. _

* * *

Notes:

1. Two points if you can name the song and artist from which the line "Blue always knew this" came.

2. Mellon Collie is "Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness" by the Smashing Pumpkins

3. "Pink Moon" is a song by Nick Drake.

4. "I Get Along" is by The Libertines

Arlene2: Write? Yeah, I sure do that. :) Rush is kind of cynical...hell, life at 20 something is kind of cynical. That's what I'm trying to capture more than anything – that age...20, 21, 22, where you feel conflicted and realize that everything you've ever known is not all that you should know by that point. Culture shock. I also wanted to kind of embody the feeling of life in college/art school...how quickly life passes by in a blurred rush, and how slowly and infinitely a hazy moment can hang. (Look at me, I try to write a shout out and I write a dissertation on writing. Okay, I'll finish the dissertation for sake of continuity.) That's why it's written the way it is – longer paragraphs are supposed to make the reader race through them, words leading to other words and then more words to get caught up in – the blurred rush. Then, the lone three sentences or one sentence or word that resounds and makes one pause – the infinite, hazy, lingering moment. Whew...enough of that, on to shout out. I'm so glad that you're reading. It's splendorific to have someone whose writing you admire compliment your own writing. (Because Standing Alone is pure poetry, of the darkest, edgiest kind. And at moments, I hate you for being so good.) I always did think that artsy boys were the hottest of the hot. But I can't buy into that...because as Kylie says, "Two arts don't make a right."

LadyRach: Audrey is lonely? Hmm...Good observation. (Notice how I've oh so subtly integrated that into the story now. Ha.) Honestly, I actually hadn't thought of that myself until you said something. But I suppose that's it in a nutshell. I love what people understand what I'm trying to hint at and then put it into common, direct English so that I understand it also. All too often, it feels like I'm wandering aimlessly with text and even I don't know where I'm headed.

Emu: I know! I'm way too slow...too much time passage between updates. I do, in fact, know my characters. In reality. These are people that I actually know. I steal little things from them like their facial expressions, words...their entire identities. Everyone should always be careful what they say around me because I'm a sly trickster of a thief. (grin.) And just so you know, I just misspelled thief four times when trying to type it.

Run: More deathly realism. It's what I do best. We can't have anything fictional, now can we? I almost forgot to link back to Newsies in some way until I referred back to your review.

ellaeternity: I have in fact read "The Perks of Being A Wallflower" and loved it. So, it thrills me that you compared my writing style to the authors. Such a great story about nothing and everything at the same time. The bits about being infinite are actually a direct reference to that. Audrey is real...so real that we have conversations and fight and such things. I know...fictional character...I really shouldn't get so attached. And I'm so in love with Jack that it's hard not to swoon all over myself when I write about him.

Lastly, to the real Ray Ray: You answer all of my silly questions, tell me stories while I paint, and set me straight about subways and sunlight. Fill me with ballet info, straighten out my geography, and force me to write no matter how much I whine. You're the only person I know who's just as excited...or maybe more so...about this story as I am. So, for all that...danke, liebchen.


	9. try try try

(Argh. Something is very wrong with this chapter and no one can figure out what. Suffice to say it's not my best...but the consensus is that it's missing something. But what? Help. Please.)

* * *

Chapter 9. try, try, try (come through)

Five o'clock. The sun was sinking – settling into its bed below the western sky's horizon and filling Jack's meager apartment with blue evening light. He wandered by the window twice before halting and drawing back the dark navy sheet that comprised his makeshift curtain. Absently, he groped with his right hand for his phone, stooping down a bit to let his hand fall upon it in the dim light, where touch was of greater value than weakened eyes. Finding it, he picked it up and dialed a familiar seven digit number and held the receiver to his ear as he awaited the answer on the other end. A section of the neon sign next to his building that usually rhythmically flashed long into the night was out apparently, and in its place was only a dark hole amidst the otherwise vibrant glow.

"Hey Ma," Jack said into the mouthpiece and sucked breath in as he awaited her answer. "Yeah, I'm fine. How're you? How's Dad...oh, that's good. I'm glad he's feeling better." He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, still wet from the shower he'd stepped out of five minutes before. "Hey Ma? How old were you when you and dad got married? ...Really? That young? Hmmm...What? Nothin', I just thought you were older or somethin'." Jack fished into his bottom right drawer and withdrew a pair of clean-enough jeans. "Oh, no reason. Just wonderin'. I've gotta go to work in a few minutes...Yeah, I know. Late nights aren't good for anyone. I know, I know. Oh! But ma, I'm playing the piano again...Yeah, I knew you'd be happy 'bout that."

He dressed quickly and gave himself a brief once-over in the mirror. His hand he ran through his hair twice, swished a mouthful of Listerine around, and then started to head out the door. On second thought, he retreated a few steps and picked up the phone once more to dial yet another familiar seven digit number. As it rang, he tapped his finger against the wall impatiently. "Come on, Audrey...where are ya?" he mumbled into the mouthpiece after the phone tone came a seventh time. Finally, Jack gave up on her and with a shrug was out the door and down the stairs.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

"Another round, Audrey dear?" Ray asked cheerily and held up her empty glass to toast her friend.

Audrey nodded her head in agreement in sleepy satisfaction and wondered how she'd gotten there in the first place. Her feet hurt from her red ankle boots that Raven had convinced her to wear, citing the fact that they were almost new and irresistibly red. Audrey had tucked them under her, sitting on her feet, head propped on her folded arms and dreaming, while waiting for Ray to return with another glass of something she shouldn't be having. A dangling light fixture above their corner booth caught her attention and upward she stared at it, letting her sight blur until all she could see was a halo of white light.

_White Light Night._

It had been advertised and heralded to Audrey through the excited, persuasive mouth of Raven as a "one night only, city wide experience of music, mingling, and half priced wines, drafts, and cocktails." However, in truth it was a disease of festivity among Midtown's more affordable bars. Inebriation was half the cost and doors were propped open to nearly anyone who wished to enter - How could most of New York's more collegiate and affectedly bohemian and poor resist the call of the contagion and become infection? It was simply impossible, Ray had explained Audrey a few hours prior. Simply impossible.

"Loooook," Raven declared, returning to the table. Face beaming with self-satisfaction, she dangled a long bottle by its mouth from between her fingers, silver bangles glinting in the low light as she did. "Champagne for your efforts. It's the good stuff too. All fizzy and French. C'est bon et...expensive. I thought it more festive and more fitting for the start of a new semester. I'll probably have to forego lattes for a month...which does not exactly thrill me madam. So you'd better be grateful. Cheers." Intoxicated to a fulfilling extent, Audrey could do nothing but could do nothing but languidly raise her hand to accept. Raven touched her glass's polished side to that of Audrey's and nodded her head in approval, pink crystal earrings catching the light and dancing as she did. "See," Ray drawled, slurring her words a bit in the heaviness of her champagne affected tongue. "Aren't you glad you didn't stay home?"

"_Audrey...Audrey...Audrey..."_

_Audrey groaned but eventually gave in and followed the impatiently tapping, yet glamourously adorned heel up to the expectant face of her flat mate. "What? What do you want Ray? Just what?"_

"_Don't take that one of voice with me. God. I only wanted to ask you a question."_

_Looking downward to the barely filled page of the sketch book in front of her, Audrey felt a deep sense of loss taking over. With a heaved sigh of resignation, she retraced her mental path and reluctantly apologized. "I'm sorry, Ray Ray. What was it that you wanted to ask?"_

"_Dooyawanahgoowimeeetowhilighnight?" _

"_Huh? Was that even English?"_

_Raven strode over to Audrey's desk and snuffed out her cigarette emphatically in an empty bowl before returning to where the younger girl was sitting. "I said," she repeated more slowly, making certain to annunciate her words, "Do you, Audrey dearest, want to go with moi to White Light Night?" Ray saw Audrey's brow furrow and mouth twist to the side. "Audrey, don't say no," she commanded. "Don't say no. Don't say no. Don't. Just think about it for a minute, will you? It'll be fun. I promise. Fun! You and me, kid, we'll go and have fun and get really smashed!"_

"_I don't wanna."_

_Ray's expression quickly deflated from excited to one of annoyance. "But it will be amazing," she offered, making a last ditch attempt at enthusiasm. "Everyone will be there!"_

"_Silly girl," Audrey answered in preoccupied monotone. She held her drawing up to the light and surveyed it. With a quick flick of the wrist, she tore it from her book and set about cutting out the parts she liked with a pair of scissors. "I don't give into peer pressure, Ray Ray. Didn't they ever teach you that in Grammar School?"_

"_Come on, it'll make you a new woman," Ray persisted._

"_Yeah. A fucked up one."_

_Raven scoffed. "No, not a fucked up one you wench. Oh pshaw...look, you need two things to paint. I saw you eat chocolate cake earlier, so you're already halfway there." She pointed a red fingernail at Audrey in accusation and then relented with a graceful flourish of her hand. "I'm just going to provide the rest...think of it as an investment. You'll be painting like gangbusters by the end of the night." She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and waggled her eyebrows up and down insinuatingly. _

_Audrey's retort came in the form of, "Yeah, but...drinking...liquor...that only works when I'm drinking here...you know, in our apartment and can paint meanwhile. Meanwhile being the key word here. Not when I'm being dragged all over Mid City. Besides, today was the first day of monotony, otherwise known as class...all of those remedial demonstrations and things...so exciting it put me into a boredom coma. But nonetheless, it was tiring. I've got class early tomorrow morning...not that you'd know what that was like."_

"_Oh God...like you're not used to staying up half the night anyway. You'll recover and get up and march yourself to class just like you always do."_

"_Ray," Audrey said sharply in disbelief. "Look around you." She gestured dramatically at the space around her filled with half finished drawings and paintings, brushes, notes scrawled on Post Its, books opened yet not closed, the blur of lights streaming by on the dark streets below. "Everything is happening. Everything is happening right now. And you want me to just ignore all of it and sigh and get dressed so that I can go out and drink with you?" Audrey's heartfelt statement did not produce desired results. Her words were only met by a blank, unaffected stare from Raven that could only mean that yes, she did indeed expect exactly what Audrey had said. Therefore, with a sigh and that same sense of loss felt earlier, she put down her pencil, got up from the floor, and started to get dressed so that she could go out and drink with her friend. _

Ray leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table, letting her eyelids droop to half lid as the dim lights transfigured her. For a moment, Audrey thought she caught a distant, wistful gleam in her friend's eye, but wondered if it could have possibly been the glaze of intoxication. "There was this boy in high school," Ray began, stirring her champagne with a thin straw. "His name was Luke." She paused and took a sip from her glass as though the continuation of her story depended solely upon it. "We dated all throughout senior year. I was mad about him and with good reason. The boy was gorgeous. Anyway, towards the end of high school, he got this scholarship to go to school in California. He was a big hockey player and smart as hell. He played chess and everything – though he'd never admit to it. Bad for his image and all. Anyway, we had this long talk about him moving away or not moving away. I don't remember exactly what I said or what he said, but I don't think I told him that I loved him at any point. No...I don't think I did. And I think that broke his heart because he was such a romantic and had these epic, romantic ideas about everything, especially love. I loved him, I think. But I didn't tell him because I was seventeen and stupid...and well, what did I know about love?"

Her face fell a bit as she stirred the champagne needlessly once more. Clearing her throat with a funny little half cough, she went on, "Anyway, he moved away and afterward, I got so bitter and so sad because I fucking let him go. He wrote me this letter shortly after he left – it was really poetic and full of emotion...and a lot of hurt, but that was secondary. I never wrote back because, frankly, it hurt too much after all of that commotion before he left. I haven't heard from him since. I wondered what would have happened if I would have just written back...or called. Oh well...it's useless to sit here and wonder. No good in thinking about that now."

"That's true," Audrey replied, finding her own voice becoming laden with melancholic nostalgia for no obvious reason.

"Let's not talk about this anymore." Ray waved her hand as though to chase away any regrets or remorse and then reached for the bottle. "Here, have more," she said, filling Audrey's glass to the brim. "Better drink what you can now. We've still got to go to Red Star. The beautiful people that frequent there can handle their prices, but even at half price, we probably shouldn't. Drink that down and I'll give you another to finish off this bottle."

At that time, Ray's logic made perfect sense to Audrey. She drank her glass of champagne and then let it become one too many as Ray topped her off with the last of the bottle. A half hour later, Audrey was ripe with liquor as she ambled down the street running her hand along cars and occasionally setting off a car alarm whose wailing pierced the thin cold air of the night. Finally, she halted her progression with an outstretched arm toward a light pole. She caught it in the crook of her arm and grabbed on, swinging her weight around it in a spiraling fashion that ended in a lazy slumped shouldered stance. She glanced up to note her location: the corner of and . Regarding Ray through half lidded eyes, drooped with rum, imported beer, and champagne, she uttered a low moan. "I'm tired Ray Ray," Audrey drawled in drunk English. "I need to get back to painting. I need to paint, Ray Ray. Paint..."

"Noooooooo," Ray whined and stomped her silver strappy sandal firmly into the sidewalk. The smack of it hitting the pavement resounded louder than she expected, causing her to cringe. Yet, she went on. "There's still three more bars on the list that we haven't even gone to. Red Star...oh Audrey – Red Star! That's where the pretty people are."

"Pretty people? Oh, Ray. But three more?" Audrey whimpered, pathetic in both her voice and stance. Her voice melted to a whisper, "Ray, I can't take any more bars. That's not healthy. I need to work."

"Pshaw! You always work. You never have any fun. Come on." Raven grabbed the younger girl's arm and proceeded to drag her down the street. "It will be fun, Audrey! Fun. Hey!" She stopped and quixotically stood straight and regal, hand on hip and eyes set to a persuasive brown. "Wanna see me do an tour jete?"

"Really?" Audrey asked, amazed. She pondered the thought with one hand to her mouth and lightly giggled. "You're going to do that right here in the street?" The question was posed as thought Audrey had interpreted "tour jete" as something more severe. Something like Ray saying she was going to strip down to her underwear and sing "I'm A Yankee Doodle Dandy" while performing interpretive dance moves.

"Yes, and in heels," Ray triumphantly responded without missing a beat. With a flash, Ray took off bounding, a graceful gait and deer like strides. She with a little flourish of her arms and a flick of her foot, she launched into the air, spun and landed gracefully, if not a little wobbly due to heels and inebriation. "Ta da!" she sung out.

"Wow," Audrey responded. Let me try." She took off in the same manner as Ray had, but more impish...jester-like strides of a five year old pretending to be a fairy princess or a sequin clad circus performer. A child trying to take flight. Audrey's spin was less tight, less sharp, with arms extended and flailing, hands palmed flat opened and slapping at the wind, but she landed too in a loud clomp of heels and squealing.

"Bravo, darling!" Ray called out, clapping her hands. "Mahhhvelous!" She performed a little twirl of her own, but stopped short when her eyes fell on the bent outline of her friends. Concern rose up immediately and though she was not motherly in any other fashion, Raven quickly rushed to her side. "Audrey? Audrey, what's wrong?"

"I...I...don't feel so well," Audrey managed. "And I don't want to go to Red Star!"

Raven laughed and then put a protective arm around her to see her home. They took a late train back to their dark, cold apartment, and Ray allowed Audrey to rest her head in her lap, stroking her hair all the way and distractedly singing "As Time Goes By" in a low, mumbling voice. To anyone that dared cast an inch of a funny look their way, Ray would simply scowl or shoot a, "Hey mister, you got a fucking problem or something?" Off of the train, down the street, and up the stairs she helped Audrey amble . Then, with the rarely practiced patience of a saint, she held Audrey's ponytail and damp tendrils of hair back when she vomited up the half-priced drinks and cocktail olives. Afterward, Ray put her to bed and brushing her bangs off of her forehead, kissed her own hand and then placed it on Audrey's temple. "Goodniiiight," she whispered.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

A perfectly warm dream of Brighton gone, wasted by the incessant buzzing of the clock's evident mean spirit and malicious intentions. The alarm had begun to chime on her little red clock at Audrey's bedside. The abrupt buzz had awakened her from a near comatose sleep and fantastically perfect dream that could have been reality...if only for a few more minutes. As if snapping out of a trance, her head bobbed up, heavy and pained from movement and light. Her bangs were matted against her forehead and there were little sweat ridden strands of knots sticking to her cheeks. She angrily pushed them out of her eyes and off of her face, eager to quell the clock's angry wailing. Fumbling around to regain her balance and motor skills, she changed the alarm's setting to a decisive if only momentary 'off' with a swift clap of her hand against the clock's surface. Everything in her longed to go back to sleep...to just give into her drooping eyelids for five more delicious minutes...but in her slumber induced haze and fog, she remembered that there was something that she needed to get up and do. However...what she needed to do was a mystery to her – a mystery that insisted remaining only on the tip of her tongue. Fatigue did not breed lucidity, and such was certainly true in Audrey's case. For instead of getting up and making an attempt to set her life back in order, she instead clicked the dial setting to off and settled back into the warm womb of her sheets.

Three hours later, she awoke. What a nice sleep she had had, she thought. Rising up to a sitting position, she stretched long and languorously, still feeling a bit achy and nauseated. But it was waning. As she easily transitioned back into an awake state, she caught a glimpse of the time out of the corner of her eye. _Noon_. "Noon?" she squeaked, all voice having left her high pitched and raspy. She froze for a moment in terror, utterly panicked at the thought of being a horrid three hours late to her first class of the morning. The first session of her first class of the morning. She had missed it. She had gotten _purged._ That one little almost insignificant moment of realization was the consummation of all of her nightmares. Shocking herself back into reality, she shot up out of bed and scrambled around her room for clean clothes. Yet, everything she picked up stunk of alcohol or paint.

Despite her panic, Audrey managed to dress and get out of the door looking like a semi-normal person. She ran down the three flights of stairs and out of the door. Once on the streets, she tried to hail a cab, but they all passed her by with disaffected disdain. "Stupid cab drivers," she moaned, still half walking, half running down the street. She thought about simply throwing herself in front of a slowing car. She might get hurt, yes, but then she'd have a valid excuse as to why she missed class and the university might have mercy upon her. "I'm sorry," she imagined herself whispering whilst lying in her hospital bed. "But I didn't even see the car. I'm not used to cars coming from the left like that. I'm still accustomed to England." Yes, it'd be a perfect excuse and perfectly valid as far as they'd know. Hell, as far as she knew herself. She still had to be wary of intersections because her manner of crossing them was still less than ideal. _Stupid fucking city._

Audrey dutifully attended her second studio class of the day without a hitch and then sat outside of Robert Hausey's office door and waited for him to finish teaching his class and return. She opened a book and sat it on her knee, but barely read it. She found herself going over and over the same lines – seeing them, but not really reading or understanding them. Book still open, she produced an apple from her bag and sighed at her "lunch." Crunching on it, she managed to somehow read a whole page and a half before she spotted a tall white haired man plodding down the hallway in her direction. Closing the book, she flung the half eaten apple into a nearby wastebasket and rose from her chair. Audrey straightened her shoulders and quietly cleared her throat. When he reached her, she said, "Professor Hausey, can I please speak to you for a moment?" Instead of throwing herself at his feet and begging for readmittance as was her first inkling.

While inside of his office, she spoke to him about her predicament, citing illness and medication that made her drowsy as an excuse for her bad behaviour. All the while that she spoke to him, she looked not into his eyes, but just to the left of them, at a portrait he had painted of his big black poodle. The poodle was given special attention, rendered just as one would have given such care to render a human, and looked somewhat regal in his stance and likeness. Audrey wondered if his attachment to his dog revealed that he was sentimental at heart and thereby forgiving toward the wayward actions of foolhardy students. "It couldn't hurt to ask," she reasoned. So, ask she did. The answer that she received was not exactly ideal. As it turned out, there were more than five students trying to get into his morning class. When she'd missed the roll call that morning, he dropped her from his roster, as was tradition, to make room for another student. It wouldn't be fair, Hausey explained to Audrey, to simply drop that one poor soul and deny him or her access because she screwed up. However, he as forgiving and told her that she could work out the class as an independent study. She'd work at home and then every few weeks or so, schedule an appointment to meet with him and show and discuss her recent works. She wouldn't be under the constant tutalege and have access to the studio that she would have if she were in the class, he explained, but at least she'd have the class for her record. It was the best he could do. Audrey thanked him and went on way, letting out a deep breath that she had been holding since realizing that she'd missed his class.

"It's okay," she told herself as she was crossing the threshold of her professor's door, on her way down the stairs and out onto the street. "I'll just paint at night and pick up some more hours at the restaurant. Yeah, that'll be lovely. Almost ideal even. I can pay rent more easily and not have to worry so much about starving. Maybe this isn't such a bad thing after all." She sighed and thought to herself, "On, second thought, maybe not. Oh, Audrey, just shut up before you talk yourself into liking your mistakes and being so comfortable with them that you don't think twice about making them over and over." On a whim, she took a sharp right turn and tucked into the doorway of a particularly conveniently placed coffeehouse and ordered the most sugary, espresso-filled drink she could find on the menu.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvv

The uncomfortable feeling had started at first mention of a friend name Brad's back to school party and did not ease or lessen the slightest bit when Jack opened the door and Audrey found herself lost in a sea of the Mass Communication Department's finest hopefuls.

Upon entrance, she followed behind Jack like a child, her hand clasping his for direction and survival, it seemed. As they made their way through the crowd of people holding cups of beer, Jack glided through and parted them like a hot knife with his confidence, comfort, and easy stride. In the foreign apartment that was too nice to be paid for by any student's working hand, Audrey observed all of the little intricate delicacies of a parent's support. She felt bittersweet about it – jealous that she had not the same comforts, but still happy to be accomplished enough to merit and fund her own survival. Jack waved hello to a group in the corner, dressed in jeans and the Gap's new winter collection.

Chatter filled the room: talk of assignments, politics, and Kappa Theta Omega Alpha Phi Gamma Delta Beta Epsilon... It was a completely different scene than what Audrey was used to. There was no eclecticism or oddness about them, as they all melted together in one beautiful unity of belonging that only like minds could create. In the crowd of white sheep, she was the one with the altogether too obvious black coat standing outside the herd. How out of place she felt in her bohemian garb and offset demeanour. They were pretty and pulled together in a casual, effortless way...just like Jack was. She only felt undone and exposed. In that room, everything about her was foreign, and probably wrong, she decided. It was in her best interest to just hold onto Jack's hand and try to blend in as best she could she ultimately decided. So, blend she did, in her own awkward way. Audrey inched around the crowd and kept quiet, smiling politely at those who met her eye, and trying her best to look interested when she found herself within a conversation. Standing at Jack's side, nodding and smiling, though, she soon found herself utterly bored and looking for an escape.

Her apprehension faded to comfortable disdain in the light of monotony as the party dragged on. When Jack hearkened to the call of a flippant looking young man who sported an upturned collar that made him look ridiculous, and apologized to Audrey with his eyes and the promise of brought back drinks, she wandered the room and came to the window. Pulling the curtain back, she regarded the courtyard below. It was filled with curving sidewalks, antique light posts, lawn chairs, benches, and one central fountain. She bet that on any given sunny day, a good hand full of little Mass Com and Pre-med majors could be found lounging around and sunning themselves while drinking cheap beer and bottled malted drinks. Audrey closed the curtain and was immediately thankful that she did not live in such an apartment. It would have only made her peevish – to have such easy access to a view of happy, carefree people while she worked away and worried constantly. Yes, how very _fortunate_ she was. Lacking anything better to do or anything more interesting to examine, she flopped down in an empty spot on the couch and leaned against the armrest, rhythmically swinging the foot of the leg crossed over her knee. She spied a pile of napkins on the table and looked around the room to make sure that no one was watching her. When she affirmed that her actions would go unnoticed and unreprimanded, she reached over and plucked them up off of the table. Removing a Sharpie maker from the bag that she wore across her body, she uncapped it and jumpstarted her slumbering, numb mind with thoughts of what to upon the napkin. As she observed the people around the room as she thought, a fraction of a notion entered her mind in pieces. It slowly built into a sentence, and once Audrey spied a small framed blonde girl clinging to the waist of a strapping boy in a baseball cap and chiseled jaw, the thought completed itself. Onto the napkin, and in straight up and down, looping handwriting, she wrote, "I know that I'm not that pretty, and I'm only average smart with an overwhelming uncanny need to just survive." She surveyed it and wondered how she could turn such a statement into a good painting.

"Hi there," a male voice beckoned.

Audrey flinched slightly, subconsciously, and hesitantly turned her face toward the voice to see a baby-faced young man with shaggy brown hair and a child-like grin.

"I think I've seen you before."

Audrey's eyebrows raised in slight alarm as caught off guard, she responded with a quick, "I don't think so."

But the boy was persistent. "No, I really think I have. At a Kappa Alpha party...you're a Tri Delt, right?"

"No, I'm not exactly a sorority kind of person. I believe you've mistaken me for someone else," was her polite response.

"Ohhh, maybe I made a mistake then. I'm sorry," he said, embarrassment colouring his cheeks a pale, but present pink. He gave her a sheepish smile and Audrey felt a bit sorry for him. Embarrassment being her chief joy killer, she empathized and wondered how she could have rephrased her answer. "Well," he remarked, sitting up, straightening his shirt, and interrupting her thoughts. "Are you in Mass Com? Do you even go to Hunter?"

"I'm sorry, but no and no. I'm at NYU and art, not Mass Com," she answered. She awaited his next question, which she was sure would be, "Then why are you here?" But Audrey found herself not wanting to tell him that she was there because of her boyfriend. Because she was following her boyfriend around to his friend's party and that she knew no one there. Admitting that somehow made her feel less appealing – as though she were losing her street credibility in two ways: One by admitting that she had a boyfriend and was less independent and alluring because of it, and two because she had merely followed someone else there and had not independently and confidently chosen to attend for her own reasons. Therefore, she set about mentally preparing another answer to her liking that was also feasible and adhering slightly to the truth she so loved. However, she was surprised and a bit relieved when she heard him simply say, "Oh - art. I should have known by just looking at you. You don't look as boring or as stiff as the rest of 'em here.

"Well, thank you...I think." She paused and pursed her lips into a quizzical sideways expression of thought. "Should I be thanking you? I don't know if that was a compliment or not."

"You should just take it as something good. The name's Jake." He extended his hand out to her.

She accepted and offered a simple "Audrey" in return.

"So...art? What do you do? You make twelve foot tall steel sculptures that you weld and build all by yourself? Brute strength hidden under that little frame of yours?"

"No, I paint."

"Ah, painting." He gave her a once over. "What do you paint?"

Such an easy question for most, but for Audrey, conflicted about both the inspiration for and validity of her subject matter, Jake could not have posed a more difficult question. Just say still life or colour field, she told herself. He won't know about all of the issues you have hiding behind it – he won't know the legitimacy of one thing over another. Just tell him you're an abstract artist and he'll think you're God. Or you're a cop out...either way, what do you care? "Abstract," she heard herself say. "I paint natural abstractions. I mean, no painting is really unnatural. I suppose some is...but no, painting is all natural or it's fake. But that's not what I meant. I meant that I paint from nature. But not landscape or flowers...I mean, sometimes I do. But I just use that as a starting point. Something to derive a painting for. But most of the time, the end result looks nothing like the flower or landscape that I originally took the subject from. I like to have some control over what I paint – I like control. No, I mean in paint...I like to manipulate...the painting. I like to change the colours and things like that. So...yeah." She had rambled – went on and on about that which most defined her life and currently nested her insecurities to a complete stranger. What a fool she was.

"Well, you sure do know a lot about that art stuff." Audrey blushed at this, embarrassment thoroughly settling in and manifesting itself. But her red cheeks seemed no deterrent to him. In fact, from his flippant attitude and smooth flow of conversation, she couldn't make out if he'd even noticed. "Okay, do I ask the obvious? I guess there's no harm in it...that's not a New York accent on you, doll. Is it? Where're you from?"

Audrey offered him a clenched, tight lipped smile. It was that question...that same old question. She wondered why it mattered so much to everyone that they cared to ask. But then immediately chided herself for being so impatient with having to answer such a simple question...even if it was repeatedly. "England. Southern England."

"Like London?" was his reply.

The same tight smile crossed her face once more. It wasn't that he was talking to her or ignorant to the geography of England that made her grimace. Certainly the aforementioned two did not help, but she was tired from working, tired of the party, and tired of trying to fit in. "No," was her answer. "Brighton. In Sussex." The boy only nodded like he knew where she was talking out, but his eyes revealed the quick dash of his mind to try to hit upon where exactly that was.

"Why are you here then?" he finally said.

"Well, my bo-" Audrey didn't have time to answer fully, for just as she had begun her sentence, Jack snuck up behind her and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. Happy for his return, Audrey only resignedly gestured toward him.

"Heya Jake," Jack said distractedly, handing Audrey a cup and sitting down beside her.

"Hey Jack," Jake returned, a little note of disappointment sharpening in his voice, but so subtle that Audrey doubted that Jack had picked up on it.

Jack and Jake – of course they knew each other, Audrey thought. Their names even sounded similar. She'd been sitting there, babbling on like a ridiculous idiot to the stranger boy, and bright and early Monday morning, Jake would probably find Jack in the halls and ask if his girlfriend was really that strange all the time. She could feel that same pale pink sting of embarrassment that she'd seen earlier in Jake's cheeks creep into her own once again. The two conversed, but Audrey somehow tuned it out to a few "what's up"s and comments on how the party was getting to be a boring. Until she felt Jack's hand brush against the small of her back and heard him whisper, "Just wait though," into her ear. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and her skin pricked with his warm breath and even tone. "When we get back home," he continued, "we'll make ourselves our own party." Her pulse quickened and mind set to work, quickly fluttering over what exciting possibilities would be waiting for her. She pictured that unopened bottle of Chenin Blanc or the Chianti that would turn her teeth black, doughnuts from the mini mart around the corner that stayed open unfathomably late, swing dancing to Beck, the feeling of his lips and fingertips grazing over her skin, and sugary drunk kisses.

"I'm ready when you are," she whispered back to him.

On the way out, Audrey practically bounced and floated out of the door and skipped down the stairs. Her excitement only mounted when Jack held his hand out to hail a cab instead of to tug her down the long street to the nearest subway station, port, dock?. Admittedly, she was a bit tipsy from the three cheap beers she drank down quickly to pass away the time as boredom wore on, but even fully sober, Audrey knew she would have felt a bit giddy at the anticipation of what was to come. All day she'd dreamed of kissing him. It was a strange need for the girl who needed nothing. She had waited tables during her newly lengthened shift and thought about what sort of comfort and awakening his lips upon hers would bring. (Such was probably the reason why she'd agreed to go to the party in the first place.) As of that cab ride, he hadn't kissed her on the mouth that night – only cheek pecks that were more innocent than interesting. Therefore, like a hyper kindergartener with the promise of another cookie, she fidgeted in her seat, clasping Jack's hand tightly in her palm and watching the circles and streaks of light pass by in cold, blazing glory. In the chill of January, everything seemed harsh and full of winter. Instead of the glorious rain she craved, Audrey only got snow. She was used to snow in winter, used to the thick blankets of it that covered Brighton in a soft purity. Not the dinged sludge that littered the streets and hung upon her hair and windowpane. But even when it was warm, she'd still been deprived. She felt like she had been waiting for a lifetime for some sort of redemption from the sky – a redemption that never came. Was her whole life to be spent waiting for things that would never come?

Jack may have turned the lock and the knob of his own apartment, but Audrey, full of anticipation and too much to drink, pushed him aside and barged in ahead of him. She kicked off her shoes and coat and set a straight course to the toilet to piss away any memory of the dreadful party or its dreadful beer. As she was washing her hands, she called out, "I'm sorry, Jack, but that was just and awful party." The door opened with loud creak, and she emerged, drying her hands on her skirt. "I mean, just awful. Like a frat party but without any of the interesting entertainment."

"Sorry you didn't like it," he answered from behind the refrigerator, from which he took the carton of orange juice, opened it, and drank two large gulps.

"Eh, I'll live," Audrey reasoned, walking toward the kitchen. "It was just a party. Not Auschwitz or anything." She shrieked in surprise and near delight when Jack suddenly jumped out in front of her and grappled her into an embrace.

"Don't worry tawdry Audrey, you won't ever have to go again," he said, squeezing her tightly and swaying her to and fro like she was a girl of six. "Never ever ever. I promise. You can stay home and sulk and be perfectly happy doing so." She huffed and squirmed in his arms, but he held her still and tight and bent over to plant a long, decisive kiss upon her mouth.

She welcomed it, having wanted it and dreamt of it all day like a silly school girl. But the warmth of his breath and the caress of his lips didn't last long. He pulled away, while she wanted for more, and flopped down on his worn couch. Reclining with hands behind his head to support it. Audrey stood in her place for a delayed moment, in case he should happen to pop back up. He at first did not budge. Therefore, she waited a big longer. When it seemed evident that he was proposed to remain in his horizontal position without the slightest bit of effort to return to her, she gave up and sat down in a nearby chair. Slumping over as she watched the back of his head remain motionless, she could feel the resentment of him rising up in her chest. It swum into her throat, causing it to burn as she fought back disgruntled screams and a completely irrational, yet very present violence. She would not say one word though...he would have to be the first to speak. So, she bit back her curses and reprimands and waited. Then waited some more, all the while waging a private war against the enemy that he came to represent to her. When he appeared that he was apparently neither going to speak or move to make some sort of amends...when it appeared that he was possibly no longer awake, her nearly unjustified bitterness into a slow burning rage and manifested itself through her tongue. "If you're going to be this boring for the rest of your life, you need to tell me right now." The sentence pierced the otherwise tranquil silence of the apartment. As soon as it had shot off of her tongue, she realized instantly that she had probably gone too far.

Just as she had intended, Jack did indeed move. He rose up from his reclined position and twisted his torso around to face her, his confusion apparent. Looking like he had just been slapped across the face, he asked, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Feeling rather indignant and prideful...and most certainly not wanting to admit that she had done anything wrong, Audrey just shrugged and kept her eyes cast downward. She ignored him and instead imagined what her toenails would look like painted in Ray's favourite shade of pink, "Senorita Rosalita."

"You don't have an answer for that? Or you just don't want to tell me?" Jack inquired further. He had mountains of patience, but when she injured one of his few tender spots, it all quickly eroded away from him. The tension in the room was thick and heavy as lead. It pressed down upon them both and they tried not to scream, each for his or her own different reason. Jack was hurt. Audrey was too, but also at fault and feeling terribly guilty.

"Audrey?" Jack tried once more. Still no answer, only a repeated shrug. He shook his head and scoffed in retort. "Fine, Audrey. Have it your way," he told her. Jack got up from the couch and started to make his way into the bedroom. When he passed her, he leaned over for a brief second, gave her a curt and unaffectionate kiss on the cheek, and bid her goodnight. Audrey, on the other hand, remained in her seat and silently chided herself for having too many dreams and fanciful notions.

Audrey had, in fact, lost her grip on reality temporarily in favour of indulging her fantasies. This she knew. It was not the first time such a thing had happened. But, she thought, why should she have to be so practical? Did he not promise her a good time? As far as she, and probably the rest of the world she concluded, did not consider sitting around in silence a good time of any sort. It would have not been such a sore spot, such an annoyance and disappointment if this were not the first time he had done something of this nature. Sure, he had, in theory, being doing this a lot lately. Their life had nearly become only sitting around and watching television, eating, and sleeping. Necessities and boring ones at that. But there had never been a time before that he had promised greatness and not come through. Maybe her suspicions had been correct. He was getting tired of her.

And he was going to leave her.

She realized that unless she wanted to continue along the path of relationship destruction, she had to figure out some way to immediately patch things up with Jack...before he stewed too long on it and conjured up all sorts of bitterness. Because Audrey was Audrey, she couldn't simply waltz into his bedroom and apologize like a normal person. Such just wasn't her style. No, she had to dream up some sort of clever statement or action that would get under his skin and endear her to him once more. Something he couldn't resist.

Yet she found herself in a predicament. She was as equally angry as he had seemed, so why did she even want to waste time scheming about and then carrying out some elaborate movement of apology? Audrey crossed her arms over her chest and tried to set her mind in this direction. Yet her sulking gave way to something softer and more partial. He had set something off in her...some little voice that spoke of rejection when he did not measure up to her definition of immediate love. But, oh, Jack was irresistible to her when he was mad. Somehow, that made up for everything. His anger was not like the anger of other boys she had know personally or heard stories of. Unlike most, who only threw childish fits and pouted their way through complaints and withholding of affections, Jack behaved very differently. Something very edgy and indefinably masculine came out in him – some sort of flippant sarcasm. His spite was smoothed over by his cool, calm maturity and he chose to do battle with sarcasm and logic.

The more she thought about it, the more she wanted him...to patch things over with and be happy, or to prod until he got really angry and even more sexy. Therefore, lacking a plan or any direction at all, Audrey got up and tiptoed his way into her room. His light was off and she could make out a hump in the sheets of his bed that she took for his sleeping body. Ever so quietly, she climbed onto the foot of the bed and carefully made her way along the creaking mattress...careful not to wake him until she sat at her side. She could not be certain if he were sleeping or awoke, so she in a volume of voice a trace under a whisper...she breathily called his name. In response, he rolled over and Audrey found her answer. "This is no fun," she said to him in a soft voice kissed with childlike regret.

"What is?" he asked.

"This."

A sigh and a groan followed, as Jack rubbed his full of sleep eyes and regained his focus. "Okay," he said wearily. "So what do you want me to do?" You want me to fly around the room? Dance the polka with you for hours? Put on a puppet show? What? What can I do to entertain you so that you will not be so bored while you're stuck here with me? Just tell me and I'll do it." His words he had chosen just to be nasty. To show her that she had hurt his feelings and he wasn't going to just back down and take it...but he wasn't going to technically fight either.

Audrey didn't see any sense in fighting back. The attractiveness of his bad temper mixed with guilt over her sharp words had already won her back over to him. She just wanted it to be over so she could crawl into bed next to him, kiss him, and make love to him in the spirit of "making up." Therefore, she tried to make light of it all in hopes of persuading him to do the same. "Any one of those," was her response. "But," she said, and then paused to ponder her next statement. "I might like to see you fly around the room." After, she shot him a grin...her best coy, insinuating grin.

But Jack did not take bait.

No, instead he rolled his eyes back into his head with annoyance and muttered a few choice curses under his breath. "You change moods just like that." Jack punctuated the "that" by a loud, ringing snap of his fingers. Then, he looked at his hand in puzzlement, tinged with a bit of awe. "Okay," he continued, still using the irritated tone, "So that was the best snap of my entire life. But that's not the fuckin' point, Audrey."

Who knows what I could make you do if I got you mad enough, Audrey immediately thought. Yet, she wisely did not voice her thoughts into words. Instead, as her desire to just get out of the 'fight' as quickly as she could, she took on a patient tone and asked, "Then what is the point?" Jack didn't answer. He only growled. And when he did, Audrey couldn't muster up a clever response. Therefore, she reverted back to her first thought. "Well," she mused with a soft chuckle, "You can finally snap. Hmm...who knows what I could make you do if I got you mad enough."

"Yeah, maybe then I wouldn't be so boring. But don't worry, if I plan to be boring I'll alert you so you can be aware," he spat back.

The sharpness of his tone sent a little poisonous dart into her weak strong heart and she shut down. The toying smile cascaded from her face, tugging her lips downward on its course. Her spirits were injured – soaked in embarrassment and guilt. So Audrey just shrugged and shook her head in an effort to brush off the last twenty minutes of her life. She laid down across the foot of the bed, and faced away from Jack. She should have guessed that Jack was the type to hold onto things and embrace them...no matter how much they hurt him. She should have recognized that soft spot in him that came with all good men – the spot that was so easy to puncture and wound when they left it open to some reckless, bull-headed girl with not enough tact or consideration for her own good. A hush fell over the room as neither had enough words to voice their hurt or enough courage to swallow their pride and end it all. In lieu of talking to Jack, Audrey silently spoke to herself, affirming that if he did leave her, he was perfectly justified. She was a mean girl who said mean things without the might to take them back. And when she hurt someone else, she couldn't for the life of her muster the small bit of strength that it would take to bridge the four inch gap between them.

"What's wrong with you?" Jack finally asked out of the heavy, unspeaking darkness.

"Nothing."

"Uh huh," he replied. "Nothing. I'm sure that's it." In a high pitched falsetto, he whined, "Nothing's wrong. Leave me alone, Jack. You God damn boring looooser. Bloody hell. You're so boring Jack. You're the worst person ever. God!"

If there was one thing Jack knew, it was that mocking Audrey perhaps equaled the severity of telling her that she was bad in bed. In accordance to his plan, something within Audrey snapped. Within seconds, she was on top of him, straddling Jack and pummeling whatever flesh she could get at ...chiefly intent upon driving her little balled up fists into the still slight softness of his lower abdomen. He held up his hands to vainly guard himself against her irrational, flailing attack. By force of will, he was able to grab hold of one wrist. Then after the first, the second was easier to come by. Her hands Jack held to his chest in restraint. She groaned and huffed, but eventually gave up, becoming placid once more. Like a parent scolding a child, Jack calmly said, "You know it's not going to be like this every night. You can't expect that I'm just going to come up with something great every single time if this becomes a regular thing."

"A regular thing?" Audrey asked wearily, not really knowing what he was talking about or caring.

"Yeah, like you moving in with me or getting married."

Audrey inwardly shrieked, but tried not to outwardly cringe at the 'married part.' She thought she did a good job of holding in her feelings of dread when she simply responded, "Oh."

"You can't expect that it's just going to be _yay_! _Fun!_ Every single night."

Not giving up her mount atop her boyfriend, Audrey leaned back, letting her head droop and her chin raise. She looked at the ceiling and sighed. In a dejected voice that she didn't mean to let show, she said, "Yeah, but this is not an every night kind of thing. This is supposed to be special." Her body went somewhat slack and she tried to roll off of him, but as she did, Jack caught her hands in his grasp once more and held her fast.

"A-ha!" he announced. "Now we're getting down to it. That's the truth. That's it, isn't it?" He stopped to await agreement for Audrey and she nodded her head sheepishly in response. "Then why couldn't you just tell me that? It would have saved a whole lot of time and bullshit."

Why didn't she? Well, she didn't know all of it for certain. But she was sure that a huge part of it was that she was ashamed of feeling that way. As though wanting that made her weak or needy. Audrey shuddered at the thought "Because..." she began. "Because...I though that you'd think that I was stupid. In fact, I think that you think that most things that I say or do will be stupid so I don't tell you them."

She slid off of his stomach to lie by his side as she waited for him to respond. Waited for him to dispute it or comfort her...or even reprimand her for being such a fool girl. But instead he just groaned and slung a protective arm around her, drawing her closer into his body. "Go to sleep," he mumbled and kissed her one the temple.

For the record, Audrey did try her hardest to follow his advice. However, she found herself being more conscious than blissfully unconscious for most of the remainder of the sun's sleeping hours. When she finally did doze off, she felt as though she were only asleep for a brief and fleeting happy moment before disruptive clangs and bangs from the kitchen disturbed her slumber. She fought off rising as much as she could...holding a pillow to her head to try to drown out the noise. When nothing worked, Audrey reluctantly pulled herself out from under the warm covers and trudged toward the site of the racket to investigate. What she discovered surprised her more than annoyed. In the kitchen was Jack, bare-chested, wearing only pajama bottoms and holding a big spatula in one hand and a skillet in the other. Apparently, he was making something more than mere noise. He was making breakfast. She snuck up to the kitchen and held up a spot in the old doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest and observing the scene with amused interest. "What are you doing?" she finally asked, hoping that he'd just give her a straight answer and not bring up any of the previous night's pleasantries.

"Not being boring," he deadpanned and flipped a pancake.

_Of course._ Apparently, despite her hoping and crossed fingers, Jack hadn't somehow magically forgot or let go of anything. She had known he wouldn't. Why did she even bother thinking that he had?

"Argh. How long is it going to take you to get over that?"

"How long you say?" came the response. He mulled over the question as he scrambled his eggs with a fork. Audrey could see him mouth numbers as though he were calculating some infinite sum. "Oh, about a year or so," he estimated. He kept up his nonchalant act of faux resentment as he poured the soupy egg mixture into a hot skillet and watched it sizzle. However, the layers of bitterness soon peeled from his face to reveal only weary surrender. He sighed and rubbed his brow while slowly pushing the eggs around in the pan. Stirring with one hand, he reached out with the other and looped his fingers around Audrey's waist. With one tug, he pulled her into his body and held her there affectionately. As if to say that all was still a bit sore, but at least forgiven, he kissed her sweetly on the cheek, and said, "I was thinking...we could get out of here. Open up a little restaurant in Santa Fe or something. It'd be fun. No more flights of stairs to climb when you're exhausted. Not more broken knobs and drains. No more traffic and garbage and six dollar cups of coffee. Only sun and open spaces...and the sun..."

"It's the same sun as here, you dummy," Audrey retorted.

Jack stuck his tongue out at her comment of correction and continued on with the same quixotic tone. "Well maybe it'd just look better there. Bigger. But anyway, breakfast could be served all day long." He then cast a mischievous sidelong glance at his girlfriend and added, "And apples and chocolate cake for the more daring. I'll be back in the kitchen, scrambling some eggs and you could seat people. Or wait tables since you practice that and everything."

She groaned. "Which I have to do later today. Extra shifts – why did I think that would be a good idea?"

"Mmm, because you're a crazy girl," Jack answered and handed her a plate. "Here. You'd better get eating." He gestured around him at the pans and plates filled with food. "I think I made enough to feed all the poor, starving artists in a mile's radius...and that's a lot."

* * *

Run: Well, I didn't update soon. Guess you'll have to kill me. But don't worry, you can do it whilst you maim me for still not posting pictures of my watercolours. It'll be more efficient that way. I love the thought of all of us sitting around like that too. Some of my favourite scenes are the little bits of nothing that take place in the various apartments because, I think, that's what I'd like to imagine my life to be like. Apartment life is kind of beginning to be a new little fascination of mine. It's just so...touchable and accessible to me.

ellaeternity: The Libertines are love! I love them even though they are potty-mouthed, inconsiderate and sound like drunken idiots on some of their songs. Maybe it's because they're English. La vie boheme is everything. (dreamy sigh.)

LadyRach: (blinks) Yeah, I'd have to say that was a pretty good analysis of last chapter. I don't even think I could do it that well, and I bloody wrote it. I'm glad Raven is still entertaining you, because she's still entertaining me. For hours on end. She'll recover from her Spot tiff though...with the new pair of shoes you mentioned and French champagne. And if she gets really desperate, there's always Starbucks.


	10. music in another room

Chapter 10 – Music in Another Room

Time flies, time dies, Audrey had once heard. And fly it did. Days turned into weeks, which melted into months. There was no break – no stopping in the city that never slept...in the city of built up dreams and fabulous hopes. No breath or vacation. Nothing but school, the cafe, and painting. When she wasn't doing any of those three, she was only practicing the necessities like eating or sleeping. (But only at fortunate instances.) It wasn't pleasant to the normal person's perspective – of that she was certain. But Audrey, anti-ordinary as she was, somewhat enjoyed the constant stream of being busy. It was that sensation that came at end of each day – the one in which she felt like collapsing, but at the same time brought a wave of tired satisfaction that she could feel physically in her bones - that gave her the most sense of accomplishment. Before she finally let herself fall asleep at night, the knowledge that she hadn't sat idly all day in leisure and daydream about things she couldn't have eased her mind. For in a life of bohemian poverty and fighting to pull one's self up through the ranks by the bootstraps, there was no time for daydreaming. No, there was no time for that.

_There was no time for anything, really. There was never any time at all_.

It was when she was leaving school and reluctantly entering the Starbucks so conveniently placed around the corner that it was most apparent to her that she was falling behind. She'd stand in line, inching up a step or two with every departing satisfied customer. When it was finally her turn and a confused expression would come over the face of a new employee when she ordered tea instead of White Chocolate Mocha Frappuccino, she'd assure him or her, "You make that. You do. Trust me. I had it the other day." And it was then that she'd think once more about how she'd like to burn the whole place down. That Starbucks. The one further down the street. The two over by her apartment, and then every blessed other one in existence that could process lots of fancy Italian words thrown together to make up a sugary, caffeinated, complicated drink but couldn't understand plain English.

This thought of pure destruction of Starbucks entertained her and rolled around in her mind...at least until she hit the sidewalk. After that, other pressing thoughts filled her head as she ambled to work one hand in coat pocket, one hand clutching the controversial tea. She'd watch people as she walked, observing them, wondering what place they were hurrying to that had to be more pleasant than some crummy waitressing job. She'd see beautiful women and wonder if she should cut her hair like them...beautiful men and wonder if she were spending her time with the right boy. The beautiful things in the window made her wonder if she'd chosen the right future – painting would somehow never afford her the luxury of buying whatever she wanted. Perhaps she should have taken her father's advice and gone into medicine...or engineering. Everything around her made her doubt herself and how much happiness she possessed. All of these things she thought she wanted...this bohemian life she struggled so hard to maintain...was she working her life away for nothing?

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Having just knocked and knocked loudly, Skittery stood at Jack's door and waited for him to answer. Actually, waiting couldn't be the technically correct word, since he didn't really expect him to be there. He'd dropped by on a whim, but figured it was worth a try. Skittery bit off a hangnail and scuffed his shoes against the old hardwood flooring, worn by the passage of time and many footsteps. Finally, the door opened to reveal a confused looking Jack Kelly, clad in only blue boxer shorts and a furrowed brow. "Hey man," Jack said in a surprised, somewhat befuddled manner.

Skitts glanced around Jack and into the apartment as quickly and as discreetly as he could manage, looking for a sign of whatever action he'd disrupted. Not seeing anything remarkable or suspicious, he arched his eyebrows and hesitantly said, "Uhhhh, am I interrupting something Jack? Because I can leave and let you get back to whatever it was you were...um..._doing_."

Jack stared back, hollow eyed and confused. Skittery motion downward with his eyes and Jack's gaze followed his lead. With one quick glance, he suddenly became very aware of what Skittery had meant by such a comment. "Oh!" he began, hastily trying to think of some sort of explanation for his slow start and lack of clothing. "No, um, I was just changing and well, never made it to getting dressed again." It had come out less convincing than he intended, his voice kind of downward spiraling from eager defense to flat monotone as the truth came out. But luckily, Skittery cut him a break by issuing a joke instead of any further inquiry.

"Uh huh, I'm sure that's it. Where's Audrey? You hiding her in the closet or something? Is she wearing her lacy black underwear?"

Jack scoffed. "Shut the fuck up, man. She's not here. There's no one here but me and the piano." He had told the truth - there really was no one there but Jack and the piano, but that was enough for him. It, alone, filled the apartment in ways that a dozen warm bodies could not.

_With Audrey doing everything at once, the time she spent with Jack was few and far between. But altruistic and forgiving, he didn't hold it against her. He was busy himself, hoping and dreaming of earning his scholarship and working on assigned school work. In the moments that he would have been usually spending time with her, he made love to his piano instead, writing lyrics inspired by her presence that lingered in his apartment long after she had been gone. When he touched his piano, he could imagine that he was touching her, delicately at first, and then with tender force...his touch radiating through her body and causing her to sing. The words he sang were to her, even though her ears could not always hear. Jack was glad her ears could not hear. He was further behind than where he imagined he should be at this point, and he want any further embarrassment that would be caused when she certainly laughed at his unpracticed hand and tongue. Once, when the instrument was being particularly difficult, he'd even slipped and called it "Audrey" out loud. Laughing at himself after, he, with a sigh, swore that he'd get out and converse with real people more instead of locking himself away with the old upright and mediocre songs to play on it._

_On his ride home on the train that day, Jack found a melody stuck in his ears and mind. One that he could not forget or hold onto long enough to conquer it. He hummed bars of it to himself, as he wandered his way through it and set it to the rhythm of the pulsating static sound of the train and its fuzzy inconstant lights. He had to entertain it the entire way home, had to keep playing it over and over again in his head with his fingers tapping against the window in accompaniment, so that he wouldn't lose it. The ride seemed longer than usual with the song stuck within him and by the time he was climbing the stairs back up to the surface and hitting the sidewalk with his sneakers, lyrics were forming. Words to his melody, he tongued them over and over, wrapping his lips around the mouthed traces of a perfect lead in to the music. He walked in rhythm to his mental melody, repeating the verses to himself over and over, arranging and rearranging them until they fit his intended pattern. _

_The door to his apartment was opened with haste, and he threw everything to the floor once inside and fled toward his piano. Pencil behind ear and then to paper, he molded the melody into a full fledged progression. Jack's fingers raced over the keys, sometimes tripping and erring in his excitement and race to capture a fleeting moment of inspired song and verse. Lyrics arose in staggered couplets..."I can't imagine all the places that you go, and the people that you know..." He struggled to write them down fast enough, so that they wouldn't filtered off into the atmosphere as quickly as they came. _

"_Is someone getting the best of you...best of you...constant blue...Is someone getting the best of you and your shade of constant blue?" From these lines of nothing, Jack was weaving a song of something. He didn't know if anyone would ever get it, if anyone would ever see the deeper meaning in it all. Yet, he could tell already that what he was crafting truly meant something to him, and if he could find the deeper meaning, he'd count it a success. _

"_I'm awake when I should be sleeping_

_Counting stars with double meanings_

_When the quiet only seeks to hide you_

_But when you come home_

_It's amazing, the look in your eyes_

_Like you could save me_

_But you never will try_

_You spill all alive and brand new..._

_If you've lost your faith in love and music_

_Look up, it's right before you"_

_He was really getting it. Working at it and finally transcribing his jumbled thoughts and feelings into something tangible. Into a song – which he had not accomplished for years it seemed. He'd had a bit of creative flow a few weeks ago – something that turned into the beginning of a song. Something he thought would pan out to a breakthrough. But it had only turned out to be a one night fluke. It had retreated as quickly as it had come, leaving him with that same half finished song that he'd been holding onto for years. The only difference had been the few extra lyrics he'd tacked onto the end. But now...yes now, the inspiration that had left him – the music that had abandoned him was finally truly coming back to him in droves. As he played and scribed his music down feverishly, Jack felt as though he were back in the place where he belonged. As if he had come home. _

_After nearly two hours of sorting out the notes in his head and arranging them into beautiful sense, finally it left him...he found it hard to think. He hit a wall in his brainstorming. The clothes confined him. He'd gotten up and stripped them off, with the intention of changing into a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt. But then the music gripped him again and he raced back to the instrument to bang out a few more notes._

_Then there was the knock at the door. Jack cursed at it under his breath and wondered just who the fuck could it be. _

"The piano counts as a person?" Skittery asked, with eyebrows raised accordingly.

Indeed it did to Jack. He referred to it as a 'she' whenever it came up in his mind or in conversation. The piano was a woman, and a much older woman whom Jack considered to be much wiser than in a good many ways. "These days it does. It acts just like a woman. Temperamental as fuck and everything."

"We'd better not tell your girl then. She might get jealous, hearing she's been replaced an' all."

"Yeah..." Jack mused, his voice trailing off in the end as his mind tried to wrap itself around Audrey. She just might.

_Jack saw Audrey approximately twice a week. They'd go out to dinner, catch a movie, and then retreat back into Jack's apartment after. Inside, they'd disappear from the rest of the world...sink into their cave of refuge from the ugly outside world.. Kisses were quickened to make way for the sex – the beautiful sex that served as a cap to their days...a brief, sweet release. Afterward, Jack would hold her and tuck the sheets around her shoulders. He'd speak to her softly about his week and ask about hers. She only mumbled short answers in return. Soon, the wear and tear of too many things to do was too much to bear. She'd then let her heavy eyelids fall finally shut and in Jack's arms, she drift off into a heavy slumber. Sometimes, he'd stay awake and watch her – click back on his lamp and study or write papers. Watch how the neon of the light outside his window fell across her face. But most times, he simply shrugged her fatigue off as something that was beyond his doing or control and snuggled in beside her to sleep himself. _

_With the fatigue, came the strange behaviour. On more than one occasion, after Jack had given up and simply settled for sleeping beside her and nothing more, he'd awoken to find her awake and hard at work - flitting around the apartment or sitting in a corner with her sketchbook and an intent look on her face. The first instance of it, he particularly remembered – he'd awakened, but only half way. In his semi-slumber, he'd stretched an arm her way to drape it over her for comfort, but instead of a warm body, he found only the wrinkled sheets she'd left behind. Though sleep-heavy eyes, he jerked his head up and glanced around as best he could, trying to make sense of the sights around him. Blinking twice, and then once more, the fuzzy picture around him was coming into focus and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Audrey dart in and out of the room. He opened his mouth to speak, but what came out was more raspy breath then words. Clearing his throat, he called out to ask her 'just what the hell she was doing at that hour." "Cleaning up," was her response as she jetted past the doorway once more. Cleaning up? Jack was perplexed...why would anyone feel the need to do some desperate tidying up at two nineteen in the morning? If Jack weren't so tolerant and so aware of exactly how Audrey was Audrey he would have thought something more drastic was up. Yet, he shrugged it off and mumbled into her pillow to just turn on every light in the house and bang and crash some more things around until everything was neat and she was happy._

_But more often than not, he'd stay awake and she'd sleep solidly. Often, an amusing thought or anecdote would manifest itself in Jack's mind late at night. He'd look up from a book or a paper and laugh out loud. Then he'd reach over to tap Audrey on the shoulder and share the bit of information, but he found he didn't have the heart to wake her. The green eyed monster of irrational jealousy would rear its ugly head and whisper in Jack's ear. He'd think of shaking her awake and gently, but firmly explaining to her how he felt he was undoubtedly getting the short end of the stick. But his unfailing logic, rationality, and ultimately adoration for Audrey slew the monster every time. And so, he'd use the hand he wished to wake her with to stroke her cheek or brush back her hair and he'd understand. There'd be plenty of time for talking later, he assured himself and buried his mind back into his studies, gulping down selfishness and jealousy with unnoted heroism. Jack would allow himself to admit that he did feel a little cheated, not by her but by the circumstances surrounding her. The jobs and projects and obligations that held her captive. But more than that, he pitied her and empathized. It was one shitty situation and how could he help but feel sorry for her? She was so tired whenever she was with him, yet she'd fight as long as she could, without complaint. She worked, she got things done, and still, she came home to him to give him that last little piece of herself that she reserved only for him. How could Jack not love and appreciate her for it? _

Snapping out of his Audrey induced daydream, Jack cleared his throat and looked at his friend pointedly. "Come off it, Skitts. What do you want? What brings you all the way down here to my hellhole?"

Skittery leaned against the doorframe with ease. He took a glance over Jack's shoulder and into the apartment. "Don't you even want to ask me in or anything? I mean, I did come all the way down here in hopes of catching a glimpse of Jack Kelly in his blue plaid boxers. Makes my heart go all pitter patter when I think of it." He covered his heart with his left hand and feigned a dreamy expression. "Looks like I lucked up because now that I have...whew! I think I need to come inside and sit down. Maybe have an iced tea to cool off."

Jack cocked his head to the side and licked his lips. "You know Skitts," he said in a thick, thoughtful voice. "I've always questioned your orientation. I mean the eyeliner really had me goin' for a while there, but I, uh, figured it was just some stage thing that I wouldn't understand. But this...yeah, man...this clears it all up for me. If you want though, I'm sure I could stay in 'em all day. Or you could just give me a minute to finish gettin' dressed."

"Or you could just let me in for fuck's sake?" Skittery added lightly in the same tone, glancing upward at Jack and shrugging. Jack, in turn, stepped aside and used his outstretched hand to point the way into the room. "Ya know, Jack," Skitts continued, pausing at the door to give his friend a very obvious once over. "I think you should wear them all day. Blue's your colour. I see that now. Mmm hmmm. I think I packed my eyeliner in my man purse. I could go in your bathroom, put that on, and then we would be all set." He pushed past the taller boy and stepped into the room, breathing out a low whistle as he did. "Gee Jack, I love what you've done to the place since I've been here last. Those piles of books and papers everywhere really match your coke-can decor. And, the dust is a lovely accent. You've really been putting your inner female interior designer to work, haven't you?"

"You know something Skitts," Jack paused - for dramatic purposes only - "You've got it exactly right. It is the feminine instincts coming out in me. I've always wanted to be a flagrantly gay slut." He grinned as he slammed the door behind Skittery with one forcefully well executed push. "Ah yes, my tres chic decor...isn't it tragically bohemian and so very cutting edge?"

"It is," was Skittery's answer. He whirled melodramatically to face Jack, a seductive, faux vixen look dripping with pomp and sarcasm painted over his face. "But then," he breathed in a low, throaty, halting voice. "...aren't we all in this town?" He stared for a moment with longing, searching eyes...then threw his head back and howled at his own antics. Voice returning to its masculine, even tone, and taking on his normal 'live and let die' demeanour, he said, "So, you feel like going to the pub around the corner and grabbing a beer or somethin'?"

Jack looked around at his apartment: the sheets of music scattered on the floor, the pencil lying across the bench, the clothes on the floor, and the piano. His true answer was no. Inwardly, he sighed in remorse at the thought of just leaving his first creative streak in ages to rot. But he heard himself saying aloud, "Yeah, sure. Let me just get dressed and I'll be ready to go." Jack set off into his bedroom to throw on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt. As he stuck his feet into his worn Chuck Taylors and grabbed his jacket, he said. "Is it just you and me or are some of the other guys coming?" By guys, he meant his friends...none of which he'd really seen much lately. Skittery was the only one he came in frequent contact with, and then Jack knew that the only reason why was due to the fact that his band played at the Spanish Moon.

"Well," Skittery said with a heavy shrug, "I've been over to Spot's to invite him along and all, but the bastard's doing what he usually does and was occupied."

"You mean one of the only two things that he does?"

"Yeah. Today it was the girl. And I have a feeling from the looks of things, that he does the girl more than he does the paintings." Skittery smirked.

"Well, to hell with him. Let's leave him in his Bat cave to rot with Vicki Vale and his grapple belt and stun gun." Jack waved his hand, dismissing the whole thought of Spot as he slipped on his jacket. "He'll sink in his misery after they make a few billion kids or he dies from paint poisoning. Either way, I don't care. He'll come to his senses sooner or later. Probably later knowin' Spot an' all." He turned to Skittery with expectantly raised eyebrows. "You ready? Cause I'm ready."

"I came here ready, Jacky-boy," Skitts replied. "You were the one caught off guard and making out with your piano in blue boxers."

"You're full o'talk, you know that, fucker?" Jack said as he slammed the door behind him, not bothering to lock it.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

After classes and before work, Audrey more often than not found herself walking the familiar blocks to Jack's apartment. She'd start on her route knowing fully that he would not be there, for she had a few awkwardly timed breaks in which Jack did not. Yet, she found that in just being there and lingering in his absence, she felt somewhat closer to him. If life and work did not allow her physical presence, she would seek the intimacy that came from inhabiting the same space with things left behind. As she turned her key in the old lock and walked in, she ran her hand along the wooden structure of his old piano. She sat on the bench, still clad in coats and bags, scarf still wound around her neck, and played three high register notes with gloved fingers. Sighing, she imagined him up late at night, pounding away on the piano and making the music that she could not. A fanciful daydream entered her head – one of she and Jack in a life they had not yet lived. In her mind's eye, she saw him walking through the door, home from work. She would be in the guestroom they'd converted to a studio and would be painting in such a trance-like state that she would not have heard him come in. And he wouldn't bother her. No, he'd head straight for his piano, and she'd listen fondly, her ears pricking with his presence told by music in another room.

His phone rang, chirping long and loudly and jogging her from her sweet little fantasy. She sighed and closed the cover to the piano, putting dreams so long and far away out of her mind for a time in which they could not be achieved. As the phone persisted, she undressed, unsnaking the scarf from around her neck and prying off gloves. All of these, including her coat, she draped over a chair and placed her bag down on its corresponding table. Upon the table, two lone fortune cookies remained, still wrapped in plastic from Chinese take out two nights previous.

_Audrey turned the cookie over in her hand. Its cellophane wrapper crackled beneath the brush of her forearm. She purposefully slid her thumb along and into the crevice and using her right hand as leverage snapped its shell into two halves with a definitive crack. Discarding one side onto the table, she plucked the strip of paper from its center_.

_Jack leaned back against the arm of his couch, shoveling another bite-full of Lo Mein into his mouth. Clad in a white undershirt and blue sweatpants, he was barefoot. Scratching the back of his leg with his right toenail, he lifted himself up a bit – craning his neck slightly, and trying to peer over her hands and read the paper they held. "What does it say?" he asked, impatiently, still chewing. _

_She scrunched her nose as she read its message, brushing her too-long bangs out of her eyes and then running her thumb over its inked words. "It says," she told him, "Love truth, but pardon error." Audrey rolled her eyes as she popped one side of the cookie into her mouth and thoughtfully crunched upon it as she raised her eyebrows and shrugged in Jack's direction._

"_How appropriate."_

"_Rubbish," Audrey said though a mouth full of cookie crumbles. She waved her hand as if shoving any meaning the message could have had out of her way. "What does yours tell you?"_

"_I don't know," he said, grinning through his own mouthful. "I haven't opened it yet. I'm not as impatient as some people."_

"_Shut up," Audrey returned. "I can't help it if I have things to do besides sit here and shovel takeout into my mouth."_

"_Oh yeah?" Jack asked, in a seemingly knowing voice as he stabbed a piece of sauced chicken from another box with the end of a chopstick. "What have you got to do? Name something."_

"_Well, like paint. Study. And I really have to go back to my apartment sometime so I can clean the dump of a place. It's really getting bad. I mean, Ray's never there and when she is, she's a mess. So..." Audrey sighed. "I get nothing done when I spend weekends over here. I like it, Jack...I do. But I've got a lot to do."_

_Jack nodded. He understood. Mostly. "That's all your usual stuff. You do it all the time. Don't you ever get finished?"_

"_No."_

"_You got a shitty life then, Audrey, if those are the only things you get to do all the time." _

_Audrey shrugged. So be it, she thought. She was only doing what she thought she had to. She looked at her boyfriend with resignation in her eyes. He was still eating away semi-happily, but his attention had refocused on the television instead of her. Jack's TV set was older than he was, the front of it paned in a flat sheet of glass and attached at the corners with plastic pins. There was a special remote to go with it that took a 9 volt and only a 9 volt battery. He fiddled with it, languidly pressing its buttons as channels were flipped in pursuit of something worthy to watch. She could feel her lip begin to curl. "What do you do all the time?" Audrey asked him, her eyes narrowing. "Study? Watch the television? Play poker?"_

"_Yeah, that and a whole lot more..." Jack mumbled distractedly back at her._

_She would have attempted to challenge him with a request for an example of just what he had to do...if she didn't already know the answer. Audrey knew she was wrong. Jack worked hard bartending and interning at a paper in Midtown. Adding school on top of that was almost like adding insult to injury. He worked almost as much as she did, but with dedication and not a moment of time wasted, he managed to get it all down in a relatively small amount of time. No, she knew better than to try to bring it up against him. She knew she would lose if he so happened to cite her inclinations toward attention deficit approach when it came to her own work. Jack was efficient and no-nonsense about his work...she was only a lackadaisical daydreamer who took a lot of breaks and couldn't hold a steady thought in her head. _

"_Stop it, will you?" Jack said, now focused on her face and not the television. _

"_Stop what?" was Audrey's answer._

"_Worrying. Worrying about how you're not good enough. How you don't work hard enough. How you're wasting your time by sitting here for a few minutes and doing something like feeding yourself so that you don't starve. Here, have some noodles. They'll make you feel better...or at least prevent you from dying of starvation." Jack transferred his weight from his back to his knees as he leaned over to feed Audrey another bite._

_She chewed obediently. Chewed and scowled. "How do you do that?" she asked. _

"_Do what?"_

"_Know exactly what I'm thinking."_

_Jack grinned, obviously pleased with himself. "Well, you're easy." He noticed that her scowl of dissatisfaction had quickly turned to one of annoyance with the utterance of his comment. So, he swiftly changed gears. "And I'm just good at reading people, I guess it's a poker thing, you know? You learn to pick up on small details because even the smallest twitch of the mouth or slump of the shoulders can mean everything." He threw his chopsticks into his half full takeout box and discarded the box onto the floor, in search of something sweeter. Jack cracked open his own fortune cookie and read its pearls of wisdom. "'Always have faith, hoping for those things which seem hopeless and impossible..' Well, that was useless..." He tossed the scrap of paper into his box and stretched his arms up over his head. One came to rest on the armrest of the sofa, onto which he propped his chin in his hand and looked at her through half lidded eyes of obvious fatigue. "Would you like me to read you less?"_

"_Yes. I would most certainly like you to read me less."_

"_Why? Does that scare you?"_

_Did it scare her? It most certainly did. In oh so many terrifying little ways. "Yes," she answered. "Yes, because it feels like I have no mystery left. And well, honestly...I like to hide...everything."_

"_Well, maybe you shouldn't," came his quick solution._

_She sighed, reminded of the night's work she had ahead of her by one brief comment about what she shouldn't do (like waste time). "Yeah...maybe I should or shouldn't do a lot of things." Audrey reached behind the sofa's arm and grabbed the book she'd thrown there when the awkward teenage Chinese delivery boy had come knocking on their door, carrying two takeout boxes and the smell of Red Flower with him. She returned to her previous sitting position, but this time, held the book up in front of her face so that Jack could see only her eyes up of her face. _

"_You're no fun," Jack told her, retrieving his half emptied box from the floor...a renewed interest in eating suddenly piqued by talk of work. "Relax. Have some more Lo Mein." With that, he twisted a mangled pile of noodles onto his chopsticks and leaned toward her, dangling the mess of them over her book. "Open your mouth or I'm going to drop them on the book," he commanded._

_She groaned, but opened her mouth – into which he less than gracefully shoved his chopsticks' holdings. She chewed reluctantly, a disgruntled look upon her face. "There. Are you happy now?" she asked._

"_Kinda" was the answer. He took another bite for himself and then surveyed her book. "What are you reading that's more interesting than Chinese takeout?"_

"_The History of 20th Century Design. And it's not more interesting – it's just more mandatory." She closed the book and stood up. "I'm going in the other room. I can't concentrate with your chewing and comments every minute and a half."_

_Jack curled his lip and reached for a balled up napkin. Rearing back his arm, he flung it at her face and said, "Oooooh, so studious. Look who's boring now!"_

"_Shut up, Jack Kelly. You're still not over that, are you?" Audrey asked, bending over to collect the napkin and the papers she had dropped whilst defending herself from his sudden attack. Straightening to her full posture, she continued, "And I'll have you know that I'm not doing this because I want to appear studious in your eyes. I'm doing this because I have to. And you study all the time too. So, don't you give me that."_

"_I don't fucking study all the time. I just do that because you're always busy and I have to have something to do while I'm sittin' in your room watchin' you paint. Also, I have to study so much because I have a scholarship that I'm trying to get, thank you."_

"_And I have one I'm trying to maintain," Audrey called out over her shoulder as she went into his bedroom and disappeared from sight._

Audrey presently wandered back into his bedroom once more. She flung herself down upon his low lying bed and rolled onto her back. Languidly, she stared up at the water stains' brown puddled remnants and began to properly detach herself from the world. Jack's apartment was like a time warp to Audrey. A time warp that sucked both time an energy from her. Lacking an easel or any other means to be productive, she found herself indulging in hours of mindless TV watching. She held the remote in one hand and a cigarette in another, blindly flipping channels. With no cable or added extras, the only thing tolerable Audrey found she could watch was the news programs. Even they were not so tolerable when she thought about it. Yet, she started at them blankly, half hearing and half seeing what they offered to her, but glad for the rest from work. The only things she saw and heard from the anchors, reporters, and like staff were countless stories highlighting the economic recession and the sluggish job market. Coupled with bits of the weather and the pseudo war's aftereffects thrown in, its message was a bleak one. What did it tell her that she had to look forward to? Nothing but less money, a stagnant job market, more innocent deaths, and no sign of rain. It was all very depressing and Audrey felt her spirits sink whenever she happened to land upon such a news program. How could she help herself? Already tired as hell, she found she didn't quite possess the resolve to ignore it all and carry on with an ignorantly blissful life. Nor did she have the energy to be that hopeful. In a world that didn't have room for teachers and doctors...those who make the world go round as it did, what room could be found for an art major who didn't paint so very well anyway. With each hour of it that she subjected herself to, she only became closer to getting accustomed to the thought that the only future she'd have...as an art major...was out on the streets.

When Audrey got sick enough of watching moving pictures of the world's demise, she tried studying. She flipped through her art history text book, but all she found there was more poor, oppressed natives rising up against tyrants only to end in a gruesome death.

Touché God, she thought to herself, and closed the book. Disgusted and a bit worn down, that day, Audrey left from Jack's a little earlier than usual. The walls seemed to be closing in on her and she had to get out and do something with her life...even if it meant just walking the streets for a little while longer than needed to get to her destination. She headed toward the restaurant, but when she arrived, found herself at least forty minutes ahead of schedule. As she stood outside the door, trying to force herself to go inside, Audrey had no desire to enter. She'd have to go in soon enough and once she was inside, she knew that she'd only long once more to be outside the door. Why subject herself to forty more minutes of wanting to escape?

The only problem with resolving not to go in for a while was her lack of anything to do for the time being. Slightly against her better judgment, Audrey turned on her heel and took a detour around the restaurant. A week previous, April had told her of a boy who lived in the neighborhood – a boy who could get things if one so happened to want them. There'd been no insinuation on the part of April that Audrey should go there or acquire such things from him. She'd merely mentioned him as an indirect part of a conversation they were having about a friend of a friend and her bad luck. The boy's name was supposedly Eddie. He was said to have the face of a young Montgomery Clift with a good heart to match, and aside from his talent and knack for product retrieval was quite a normal citizen. Audrey wasn't sure of how she'd feel when she got there, but with extra time to kill and a heavy heart and mind, she couldn't think of a reason why she shouldn't at least go and find out.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

There was only so many playings of "London Calling" that one could take, Audrey had decided, before its riffs started to bounce off of the enclosing walls and reverberate one's brains to bits. Holed up in her room, under the guise of 'working' Audrey laid on her shag rug and blew smoke rings up to the ceiling. Yes, there was definitely a limit to the amount of times it could be played in one sitting. With a yawn and a groan, she rolled over and snuffed out her cigarette in the handmade ashtray to her side and then stretched back out, feeling her bones crack and pop with as they were elongated. She scratched her head and then rolled up herself upright. The world slightly spun with her newfound verticality as she stumbled over to the CD player and shut off The Clash on a downbeat. The clock read eight twenty six, so technically, she should be hungry. But was she hungry? The more she thought about it, the more she decided that she might be. So, to the kitchen it was, decidedly. As she pulled back her curtain to make an exit wide enough to fit through, her first glimpse of the world outside her room led to surprise. Purely by chance and coincidence, Audrey found Ray to be home.

There Raven stood, in the kitchen, bent over the counter. Her weight rested upon her arm and the palm that held her chin as she chewed on peanut butter topped crackers and perused the latest issue of Vogue with casual interest. She was so effortless even then. Even shortened with shoes off and hair in a pony tail, she carried herself with enough nonchalance to be graceful in rolled up sweat pants. Audrey couldn't help but feel her jaw set tightly when she spotted her. She was jealous of how one could be that inexplicably magnificent without even trying.

Audrey walked into the kitchen with socked feet. She opened the refrigerator, looking for what, she didn't know. But obviously not finding that unknown something she sought, she curled her lip in disgust and shut the door just as she had opened it. Maybe she wasn't really hungry anyway, but tricked into thinking so by the passage of time. As she passed by Ray on the way back to her bedroom, Ray offhandedly said the greatest four words Audrey had heard in a long time. "I paid the rent."

Audrey stopped in her tracks and turned to face Ray. It was too good to be true. Wasn't it? It was far, far too good to be true. She waited several seconds for Ray to break into a smile or inform her that she was only joking. But Raven only chewed silently and read. Therefore, with a cocked eyebrow, Audrey hesitantly asked, "All of it?"

"Yep," said Ray, shoving another cracker into her mouth and flipping the page of her magazine.

"Hmm," Audrey said lightly, nodding. She supposed that even Ray could surprise her sometimes. Feeling slightly less heavy with the burden of rent lifted off of her shoulders for another thirty days, Audrey set about returning to her own room. Yet, as she was walking away, Ray stopped her.

"Why aren't you with your boy?" she asked.

Audrey turned around. "Well, I could say the same thing for you. I mean, since you are with him...like every waking moment of the day. Inseparable is the term I'd use...if it wasn't so trendy these days." She flinched. Ray had just done her a much owed favour by taking care of the rent and here she was, flinging snarky comments at her in repayment. Damn her sharp tongue and dormant mind.

But Ray only smiled in return. "Well," she said, swallowing and dusting the crumbs off of her fingers. "There's only so much of a person you can take. Besides, I was starting to miss our old dump. Who wants a palace when you can have a third story walk up with exquisitely tacky paneling?" She patted the wall on said paneling and looked around fondly. "But really...where is your boy tonight?"

"I don't know. Maybe he's tired of me," was Audrey's answer.

"Oh, pshaw. Don't be so humble, Audrey. It really doesn't become you. S'just like you wearing your stripes and plaid. God awful." She rolled her eyes and closed her magazine with a snap of her wrist. "Anyway, are you stupid? Jack adores you. You should see how moony eyed he gets whenever he talks about you. I wouldn't be able to stand him if I didn't know that he was really just a normal, decent, smart boy with a serious case of in love-ness. He'd marry you in an instant if you wanted him to."

"But we don't always get what we want. Sometimes we have to do what's best for us instead," Audrey replied, matter of factly.

"What's with all of this cryptic bullshit? Why can't you just have what you want for once? Don't you think you've earned it? Oh, I forget. I'm talking to Audrey the martyr. We've got to toil on into eternity so we can meet some sort of holy ideal. And then, when we realize that it can never happen, we'll sacrifice ourselves on a cross for the faith."

"I'm not a fucking martyr."

"Oh yeah? What's your problem then?" Ray's tone and deliverance were a challenge that matched the wiser-than-thou look in her eyes. She had squared off her stance, and now stood with arms crossed over her chest, shorter than Audrey, but looking her dead in the eye. The very tilt of her head demanded a damn good answer...one that Audrey feared she did not have.

A heavy sigh was her first defense, followed by the nervous twisting of a stray lock of hair. "I don't know," she said, her voice more resigned breath than volume. "I just feel like maybe it's too good to be true sometimes. I mean, I'm pretty busy with school and work, and when I do finally find a shred of time after ignoring him for days sometimes, he's just so welcoming. So understanding. I feel like I'm starting to get used to that and maybe take it for granted. Jack's so easy. There's nothing wrong with him, and there's everything wrong with me. When I look at myself and realize how much time I waste, it makes me sick. It makes me sick to know that I'm not where I should be. There's so much I want to do that I just don't do. It's frustrating. I just want everything. Everything."

Raven had watched Audrey splay out the workings of her mind, as one with a serious case of artistic frustration only could. But when she came to the part about wanting everything, Ray felt the need to cut her off. "Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing." She watched as Audrey stopped speaking and simply looked at her with bewilderment. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not a genius. It's Sylvia Plath." And then, with a shrug, Raven went just as easily back into her magazine as she was before. "Look it up if you don't believe me," Ray said, turning to an article on the new spring line of handbags.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Audrey pulled back the curtain to her room a little more harshly than she intended to. As she drew it back, she heard a slight rip and pull and then a part of it fell to the floor, safety pin latches having come undone. She didn't make a move to fix it, only grunted and wrinkled her nose at the sad crumpled display on the floor it had become. She made a straight, or as straight as she could manage, course for her bed. Ambling through the dark and not really being able to see anything that was not two feet in front of her, she tripped over a wayward shoe and cursed out loud. It didn't matter, for there was no one home but her. There was never anyone home but her...for it seemed that Ray had taken up permanent residence at her boyfriend's house. This was all well and good for Audrey – one less distraction to come barging in and ruining the flow of a painting. (That is, if there ever was any flow to her paintings. There certainly had been none lately. It would have been a lie for Audrey to say that she didn't fear that it would never come back to her either.)

The smell of paint, usually invisible and undetectable to her used-to-it nose now was grossly apparent and particularly acrid to boot. It coursed through her nostrils and inflamed them. Audrey furrowed her brow and rolled her eyes. At that moment, stumbling though the dark with a nose full of paint and an unclear path, she couldn't help wanting to never paint again. Though, she realized that when morning came and everything was less tragic and more lucid, she'd probably change her mind.

She'd come back from open mic night at the coffeehouse Ryan was so proud of. She'd felt near awful for going, especially after telling Jack that she couldn't see a movie with him because she had to paint. She did have to paint...the coffeehouse was somehow just a slight buck in her plans when she felt she'd have to take a break or kill someone.

"_Hey."_

_The voice was warm and familiar. Masculine too. Audrey took one sideways glance up from her painting to see Ryan Donmoor standing in front of her. It wasn't an uncommon thing, Ryan always set up two easels down from her. A double major in photography and painting, he was often one of those boys who was all too good at everything that he attempted. Audrey would have hated him, if she had not found him so charmingly cute when he smiled...as he was smiling that instant. _

"_Aloha, Ryan," Audrey said, exchanging the previously perplexed expression for one of a more welcoming nature. "What brings you all the way over here to our little paradise in the classroom?"_

_Ryan chuckled. Just as he always chuckled. "I came to see what marvel you had come up with this week," he replied simply. "I didn't come to class the other day. Wednesday, I think it was. And well...ha... I was worried that I'd missed something in the fabulous workings of Audrey Nellwyn."_

"_No," Audrey stated. "I'm afraid it's only the same dull thing as always."_

"_You're too hard on yourself," was his reply. "Here..." He scooted around her easel and came to stand behind her. Hand stroking the stubble upon his chin, he examined her half completed work as though he were analyzing some great masterpiece in the Louvre. "I think," he said after a long while, "That you just need to put a little blue in your light right there." He pointed to a particularly bright white section of the canvas. "So that the light's not so hard...so that it's integrated and harmonized with the rest. Otherwise, I'd say that you've got it covered. You're always so good at this. How do you do it?"_

_Audrey practically snorted at that comment. Good? No, she the biggest false start there ever was. The only way she produced anything semi-worth looking at was to amble around with her paintbrush and just paint everything to death until it looked like something. There was no grace about her clumsy strokes or corrected colours. Not at all. "I don't know," she responded, faking an air of indifferent confidence. "It just comes out. I just lift my hand and pow! There it all is in all of its glory. I just come to class to make others feel bad."_

_Ryan hung out at a little coffeehouse down the street that doubled as a music venue on Tuesday and Friday nights. He'd often invite Audrey to come down and have a cup of something with him, but she always refused him by saying that she was busy or otherwise engaged. He had two strikes against him already – he was a guitarist and an art boy. Two things she vowed she'd never touch again. His third strike, she often mused, was that for an art boy, he didn't have a good enough eye to see that her work was rubbish. There. One, two, three: Ryan had struck out. But why did she still always look forward to the little stroll he'd take over to her easel. Why did she nearly flirt with him every time she opened her mouth to speak to him? It'd gone on for a year. Ryan had been in two classes with her the previous semester. They'd talked yes. Flirted, perhaps. But Audrey's vow to keep everything single and unattached closed her off to him. So no coffeehouse for her – no matter how much he begged._

_Yet, hours later, she found herself sitting at a table in the corner with Ryan by her side in the dark, dank, smoky atmosphere of the coffeehouse slash wine bar. She wasn't sure exactly how she had gotten there...exactly how she agreed. But he'd been persuasive and persistent, so Audrey agreed. Her reasons were mostly that if she relented and went once, he'd leave her alone about it. However, there was a tiny part of her that really did want to go, if only to find out what all the fuss was about and to sit to the left of the enigmatic and lethally witty Ryan. Audrey had felt mildly uncomfortable upon arrival – as anyone would, biding time amongst strangers and one boy who was too easy around her to be only interested in 'friend.' Ryan casually tossed smiles her way as they listened to the optimistically jaded lyrics of "Larissa Larissa' and bought her the Italian wines the artistic crowd was accustomed to drinking– those masterfully simple subtle tastes with cleverly complicated names that Audrey rose her glass to match his toasts in jest. Then you could be the remedy and I could be the enemy and we could go and live as nothing. _

"_It's odd living here," Audrey told him, after perhaps one too many glasses of wine._

_Ryan downed his third and placing the glass onto the table, fingered down its stem and asked her, "And why's that?"_

"_I don't know." She sighed a deep sigh that allowed her to catch her breath, clear her head, and collect her thoughts into a cohesive, expressive sentence. "It's as though my life here has nothing to do with the life I used to live while I was still at home. Things are remarkably different. Everything back home so familiar and so comfortable and I was so well versed in it that I could almost do no wrong. And of course, as is the nature of things like that, I became bored in it and used to dream and dream and dream of leaving it. Now that I have and I live here...where everything is like some grand discovery or some statement of independence for me – where I have to constantly relearn the language of what I once took to be familiar, I don't know. It's like England and my life there was just some dream I had of a place and time apart from me. I don't know how I strayed so far away from it that I have to think about it like that now."_

"_Well, you do wax philosophical when you've had too much to drink," Ryan mused. "Maybe I should drag you out of those studios and get you drunk more often because you're so articulate and deep thinking when wine's controlling your mind."_

_Audrey laughed, though she didn't think that it was very funny._

"_You're here because you want to be, obviously," Ryan told her and passed her a joint with ease, like he expected her to take it. Like he knew she would._

She was somewhere between still floating and coming off of her cloud. Her head ached slightly and everything was hazy and blurred around the edges. Audrey reached her still unmade bed, finally, and flopped down upon it, still clad in coat and shoes. Lazily, she unwrapped the scarf from around her neck and allowed it to still drape over her shoulders and onto her quilted bedcover. She brushed her bangs back off of her skin and rubbed at her itching, burning nose. Covering her eyes with the back of her hand, she was too tired and everything else was too blurry to touch, much less to get up and try to put right at such a late hour. She glanced over at the red numbers on her glowing alarm clock display. It was three oh five, precisely, and Audrey Nellwyn was thorough tired, delusional, and still very, very high. She closed her eyes and thought she saw colours streak against the dark of the back of her eyelids. Not sure where they came from, she kept her eyes shut tight for fear she would lose them. She kept them clenched shut and instead thought of her mother. Yes, it was her mother that flashed before her mind's eye. Audrey was glad she couldn't see her now...all doped up and over worked. But yet, maybe if her mother were still alive, she wouldn't be in such a – no. This had nothing to do with her mother or anyone else. It was no one else's fault. Audrey was weak, that was all.

Audrey had done nothing wrong, technically. A friend who just happened to be a boy was nothing to be ashamed of. If that was the case though, why did she feel so damned lousy? Or so damned lovely at the same time. Being around Ryan was different than being around Jack. Jack, she loved – yes. Loved and truly enjoyed being around. But Ryan made her feel as though she were special. Unique and enough. As though she were the brightest star in the sky and would someday amount to something bigger and brighter than a dump of an apartment and a dirt paying job. With Ryan, she was clever and witty – talented to boot. His admiration of her was evident and she couldn't shake the pure thrill she got whenever he introduced her to one of his artistic friends as, "Audrey, the girl I've been telling you about who paints like holy hell." Was it horrid of her to enjoy being in his company if he could make her feel like that?

As she laid there, against the calm, comfort of her quilted bed top, she let her mind wander to the past...to visions of her mother at a younger, radiant age. That old melody came back to her, complete with the sweet hushed voice of her mother singing it. Audrey knew now that it was nothing but a remake of a pop song, but at the time it was sang to her, she had no better knowledge than to think her mother a musical genius and linger on her every note. "Golden slumbers fill my eyes..." Diana Nellwyn's voice wafted into Audrey's poverty stricken apartment from the land of the dearly departed. Audrey, out of her mind and prone to imaginings, could have sworn she heard her mother in her ear, singing it to her as though two years old were just yesterday and not an entire lifetime away. However, the more she listened, the more her mother's message became jumbled in transmission. The old song slowed spliced itself with Ray's resounding Rent soundtrack (fondly played on repeat far too many times for Audrey's liking) until they were one. Different melodies merged into one brilliant misunderstanding. "Golden slumbers await you...will you light my candle?"

_Once there was a way to get back home_.

For a moment she thought she heard piano – piano like the kind she had heard Jack playing late at night when she had fallen asleep early but he had not shared such a fortunate fate. (She'd wake up, after being asleep for an hour..two..maybe three...to hear repeated strains of a melody being perfected in the middle of the night. It would go smoothly for a minute or two, but the flow would be interrupted by a dead halting pause. Then Jack would start again, from the top, but the original line of music would be tweaked slightly – one note changed...played higher in register or lower – and things would be added or taken away from it.) But there was no piano for her to faintly hear in the dead of night. The closest thing to it she had was the horrid taste of her Elton John loving neighbors who played their music a little too loud, but even they had probably long gone to bed. So, she took it as just another creation of a mind prone to wandering

Audrey couldn't stand the songs in her head and the near deafening silence surrounding her. She pulled her self up grudgingly and put one foot, and then the other onto the floor. Straightening her twisted, mangled clothing, she yawned and plodded over to her stereo. She flicked the knob and was greeted by the raucous sounds of The Libertines. Flinching, music too loud for her hazy, chemically muffled ears, she quickly twisted the volume downward and threw herself back onto her unmade bed.

The British neo-punk snarled and swirled through her room. The room that danced with shadows cast by the light from the window she'd forgotten to close. She watched them flicker and sway across her walls. They were night's metropolitan creations. All of those light posts, all of that neon. She thought back to a few moments previous. Ryan had walked her home. Audrey guessed that he was probably a little...concerned...about her condition and wanted to see that she got back in one piece. He'd walked blocks with her, keeping her slow steady pace and taking her elbow to guide her whenever a street had to be crossed. It was endearing, really, and Audrey, at that time, felt lucky that she had a friend that cared and was not too busy to see that she got home safely. When they'd reached her doorstep, she felt no need to jet up the stairs because she knew no one would be waiting up for her. Her window was dark – that was enough of a sign to tell that Ray had found better things to do.

"Shouldn't you be going up? It's late...someone might be worrying about you," Ryan broke in, seemingly reading her thoughts.

"Worrying? About me?" she asked and shook her head a little too emphatically. "No. There's no one up there to worry about me." She gestured up toward the window of 3F. "See? Dark. No one up there. I'm not surprised though." She sighed and stared at her shoes. They both stood at her step on silence, awkward as though on a first date. They finally got over themselves at the same time and realized that due to the lateness of the hour and the fact that school loomed in their not so distant future, a goodbye was in order. Ryan initiated, slowly leaning drawing closer to her. And Audrey, true to her offbeat, quirky self, panicked when she could not guess what kind of parting he intended. She opened her arms, showing signs of a possible hug, but retracted in a jerky, hesitant motion when she saw that perhaps a hug was not his goodbye of choice. Either he had not noticed the way stiffened and flinched or he simply did her a favour by ignoring it. But regardless of which he was, he chose to manifest his farewell by only giving her a brief, yet sweet, kiss on the cheek that probably meant nothing. Audrey laughed, relieved that it had not been more.

"Well, goodnight then," he said.

"Goodnight then," Audrey repeated and waved goodbye with a short wave of her hand. Then she turned and properly and gracelessly hightailed it up the stairs to her third story walk-up, humming to herself. As she climbed upward, feeling weightless and wonderful, she didn't care of even notice that her flirtatious second floor Indian neighbor winked at her in his trademark suggestive fashion on her way up. She only hopped, skipped, and floated back into her apartment and sashayed mindlessly into her chambers.

Which brought her back to the present: hazy and free, slightly groggy and horizontal across her bed with The Libertines soundtracking her present frame in the filmstrip of her life. She was immune to the late hour, immune to her the world around her, and immune to just how much catching up she had to do. Audrey simply was content to recline on her bed and let her eyes close, as she wavered on the edge of slumber.

_Sleep pretty darlin', do not cry...and I will sing a lullaby._

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv_v _

The call had come for Jack. Grinning like a madman, he sat in his chair, excitement coming out of every pour yet stunned to stillness also. He clutched his phone and let the goofy smile linger upon his face a while longer. Things like this didn't come around often, so there was no sense in letting them pass without some sort of embarrassing celebration. It felt like finally everything he had worked so hard to maintain and progress was finally paying off. Finally, there was physical proof of his effort. The tree of his labour had borne fruit and offered Jack a bite of its gifts. He didn't know what to do. For the first time in his life, he honestly had no idea what his next move should be. He'd left a half eaten sandwich on his table and the basketball game he'd been waiting to watch all week still blared from his TV in the next room. But Jack neither noticed or cared. The world could have stopped spinning and Jack still would not have moved from the seat he seemed riveted to.

He was going to Santa Fe. At last, he was going to Santa Fe.

Nothing was bloody stopping him this time.

He'd had a chance before. It was an almost solid chance, although somewhat hindered by a severe lack of funds. However, he was willing to work his ass off and go into extreme debt if it meant that he could at last live in the place he felt he'd belonged in. He was all set. Intricate little plans did he make for being able to afford living there, transport his life there, and still maintain his ties with his friends and family in New York. The moving truck was rented, a severe cleaning out of his childhood possessions had begun, and a plane ticket was moments away from being bought when fate stepped in the form of a woman and got in the way. He was disheartened – of course he was – like anyone with a dream yet again gone unrealized. But he sucked it up as he always did and thought about how practical it would be for him to just remain in New York until a later date. In a short amount of time, Jack came to realize...by persuasion...that moving himself across the country was a selfish thing to do and not considerate to all of those he loved. Therefore, he compromised – instead of moving to Santa Fe, he moved to the East Side and into his own little private piece of heaven in the form of a four story walk up with bad plumbing and no central air.

But this time was different.

The scholarship had come through. He'd been a finalist for some time now, submitting all of the last bits of required writings and qualifications and praying and hoping somehow... Now, 'somehow' had finally come to pass. He wanted to call Audrey, but stopped himself immediately. She was probably busy. He knew she had a critique coming up and a double shift at the restaurant earlier. Jack didn't want to bother her. (Because if he became a bother or a nuisance, it'd be one reason she'd have to leave him. He wanted to be perfect for her – always. Though he understood that he couldn't be, he figured it was at least worth one damned good try.

So, instead he called his mother. The line was busy. _Of course._ So, Jack sat still and pondered all of these things in his heart. Where would he live? Would he have to buy a car? Would Santa Fe really be all of the things he expected it would be? Would it live up to his dreams? He didn't know the answers to any of the questions his mind fired off in rapid succession, but he knew, and was thrilled in knowing, that he would soon find out. He walked over to the calendar magnet-ed to his refrigerator and flipped through a few months. August 24 he circled and wrote with a Sharpie Marker, "Santa Fe. Be there or die."

* * *

Notes:

1. Golden Slumbers is by The Beatles.  
2. The Libertines own themselves...or they used to.

Run: Well, you're right as always. I made a few corrections. Not as many as I hoped, but I fear I've got a profound case of the "I just wrote it and I'm bloody tired of looking at it so I don't care" disease. When I finish the story fully, I want to send it to the chopping block and edit it up nicely. Otherwise, I'm content to love this story along with you.

ellaeternity: More Libertines! Oh, I can't help it if I love the naughty Brits to bits and must put them in every chapter. It's a failing of mine, but a good one. More realism this time because I oh so love writing it.

LadyRach: Jack's really the cute one. Audrey just follows behind and some of his cuteness rubs off on her. (But don't tell her I said that. She'll have a fit and refuse to be written for six months...the bloody wench.)


	11. world revolves around you

A/N: I find that I don't have enough pages and can't find enough words to tell the story of a life properly….

* * *

Chapter 11 – the world revolves around you.

Jack had told Audrey about his scholarship. And now she was sulking. He wasn't exactly sure how they'd gotten from Santa Fe to sitting opposite each other in silence, but they had. She'd been happy for him when he told her. He had been watching her move about his cramped kitchen from the doorway, slicing her apple, one sure cut after the other. Then suddenly, he just blurted it out. Seconds after he said, "Don't cut yourself," he followed up with, "I got the scholarship for Santa Fe." In the middle of cutting her apple, she'd abandoned her knife and thrown her arms around his neck as though he were her champion.

But now, he didn't know what was wrong with her. Frankly, he thought that perhaps he should have expected it from her. Over the last month or so, she'd been sinking slowly, pulling herself inward and leaving him in the dark about a lot of things. Sometimes, he couldn't have guessed whether or not she really even liked him anymore. He really couldn't tell at first. He attributed it to a bad mood or her monthly funk. But surely, lately she was becoming different. Easier to anger. Quieter. More detached. Maybe she was tired or stressed, he thought each time he excused her. Maybe it was all the work.

Things could only get better.

Maybe it was no different this time. "What's wrong with you?" he mumbled, to which she shook her head. He tried another avenue. "Did I do something wrong?" Another shake of the head and more thickly tense silence. "Then what's the problem?" he asked, possibly more to himself than to her. For, he figured, she wasn't going to answer anyway.

She didn't answer. Just as he figured. She continued staring off into the dimly lit space, watching the shadows grow long upon the floor. "Talk to me," he commanded. She didn't bother to acknowledge him. Simply, regarded him as though he were a house plant that she didn't feel like watering. He was slowly dying and drying up as she remain absorbed in her own thoughts. "Alright," he finally said, when he'd gotten good and sick and tired of her stiff, unyielding behaviour. "Sit there like a fucking rock." He walked into the kitchen and got two cans of Miller Lite, one sixth of a fridge pack, and proceeded to drink them. He drank the two down and she was still silent, tracing patterns on the arm of his couch. So, he got another. After the third beer and then the fourth, Audrey had started folding little bits of her art history notes into origami cranes. Jack did not exist to her, though he was thoroughly in the room and in front of her.

So, he slouched down in his chair, draping one leg over the arm and drank another beer. At beer seven, he popped open the top and looked at her hard. "You got somethin' you wanna say yet, Audrey? Because I'm warnin' ya, one more beer and I won't hear you anymore. Another after that and I won't see ya." He took a sip of the beer as a warning, making a big, slow display of it. Then he waited, tapping the side of the can with his fingertips. "You're a pain in the ass," he muttered, giving up on his grudge. Why was he angry? Because she was angry. His anger was nonsensical and it was only getting in the way of, what he considered to be, a happy scenario. He was drinking the beers, yes, but both of them should have been. They should have been celebrating his accomplishment and getting thoroughly sloshed because of it, not sitting across the room, only steps from each other and getting annoyed. Noble as he was, he decided to try once more, with gusto and heartfelt truth. "Audrey, I love you. You don't seem to understand that, but I do...just the same. Not like it means anything to you. And I know this may seem corny or petty of me...but really, when was the last time you told me you loved me? A month ago? Two?"

"Three. At my last count, anyway."

So she was capable of speaking. Jack shrugged. "See? Three is even worse."

"Why do you need me to say it?"

"Why can't ya just say it? What's the problem?"

"The problem is that...oh, fuck, Jack. I don't know. Do you even really love me or do you think I'm pretty to look at? Cause it seems that, lately, I'm one of three things to you – a nuisance, a child that you have to take care of, or someone you're really interested in when she's naked. That is, when you're in the mood."

"Aw, don't fucking start that," Jack retorted, shaking his head in disgust and pointing an accusing finger in her direction. "You know that's not true. You walk around with that sour look on your face all the time. You ignore me and act like I'm burdenin' ya or something. How do you expect me to treat you? I'm a patient man, Audrey. But I ain't no saint."

"Why do you love me then? If I'm such an annoyance, why do you love me? Do you love me because you can never understand me, or because you understand me only too well? Both possibilities have been suggested, and now more than . . . never, it might help me to know."

Jack curled his upper lip as he snapped back with, "Shut up. You don't mean that. You're just mad and you're talkin' out of your ass."

"Maybe so."

Jack took her subtle relenting to something as a sort of surrender and a sign that the storm was dying down. At least is she weren't foiling him at every turn, he could let himself start to feel affectionate toward her again. He sniffled, and rubbed at his nose. Then, still half drunk, he set his beer down and crossed the room to where she sat in her chair. He sat on the floor at her feet and laid his head in her lap. "I'm sorry," he said. "Sorry that you think I don't love you. I do love you. You're just intolerable sometimes and I don't know what to do with you. I should by now though. I should have figured out something."

"No," she told him, gently, and brought her hand to his head. She raked her fingers through the hair nearing his neck and sighed. "I'm impossible. We all know that."

Jack glanced up from his seated position on the floor and gave her a crooked grin. "Yeah," he responded. "We all know that well."

Later that night, Audrey stayed awake long after she should have been sleeping. She had said nothing to him aloud. But in her mind, as he slept, she prepared a speech. One that she would never say to him, but that started a bit like this: I'm just worried," she saw herself saying. "I know it's been six months and all...that point that every relationship seems to hit when the honeymoon is definitely over. And we walk side by side in silence. And you go to sleep instead of talking to me, like you used to do. You won't kiss me, but you'll screw me. But only when you want to. Sometimes you'll start and then, when I try to perpetuate, you push me aside and claim that you're not in the mood. Are you just tired or are you tired of me? I sit awake at night and think about how you must be. It's so sickening, it's so tragic to feel unwanted. So, I do the same to you. Revenge isn't as sweet as they make it out to be. It's a gut reaction and one hell of a bad habit, once you habituate it. Maybe something's wrong with me and you think that maybe I should just apologize and get over it."

In her mind, she could hear him saying very clearly, "Is that all? Is _that _what's wrong with you?"

Well, not entirely, she would have answered. No, should have been the answer. But in her little reenactment of the scene, she gave him a half-hearted nod. To, which he'd respond, she was sure, with "Well, shit Audrey," half said, half slurred, "Why couldn't you just fucking tell me that?" And then, like always, she'd shrug and say that she didn't know. It was true, after all. She didn't really know what was wrong with her. She had not a clue.

Maybe it was nothing like that. Maybe it was just the intimacy that she was scared of. Having someone know her completely was a frightening thought...and having someone know her completely and not react to her the way she imagined that they should was a wholly new terror in itself. Audrey had always heard Ray rave about how wonderful it was just to stick to one boy and have that boy be able to know every bad habit that you have and still stay with you. She claimed it was freeing, and Audrey felt jealous whenever she heard the story over again. But maybe Ray had a point.

Audrey turned over on her side and faced Jack, who slept hard and deep, as though nothing could ever upset his little world. He'd had one too many beers, and slept with, what she hoped, the intoxicated sleep of non-remembrance. He rested all too easily, she thought. She'd gone to bed with him, instead of staying up to do one of the countless things that demanded her time, in hopes of some sort of compensation for their fighting. "Just kiss me and it'll be over," she'd mumbled once, during another spat. But Jack hadn't heard her, and regardless of whether he had or hadn't, the truth of it still remained. Just five minutes of a true kiss would have been enough to remedy any amount of wrong that had previously happened. One kiss would have been enough to wipe any ill thoughts from her mind. It had been why she let her pride and hurt wane. She was ready to make up….ready to remind herself and him why they were still together.

But he went to sleep instead.

She could have left. She could have gone home, gotten to work, and saved her night. But one thing stood firm – immense hope abounded in her. It kept her riveted to her spot with the perpetual attitude that, despite the circumstances, there was always a chance for things to be ransomed. Therefore, desperate and weary, she felt the sudden urge to strike up a conversation, in hopes of still having one last glorious shot at some very outward display of affection. But she didn't know what she wanted to say. He had been angry with her before, and he'd almost certainly be angry once more if she shook him from his happy sleep. A sudden pang of regret blindsided her. Guilt came next…guilt for taking something they should have both rejoiced in and turning it around to reflect the perfect little hole she'd dug for herself. She felt so bad that she got right up out of bed and marched into the bathroom to take refuge in a fine white line. It's chemical embrace could give comfort her for at least half an hour.

In the bathroom, she stayed bent over the counter for a moment or two before placing a hand on either side of the sink and raising herself upward. She stared into the mirror, pale and teary-eyed, and sucked breath in. Perhaps now was the time to grow up…to get rid of all of her silly girlish preconceptions of what love was. After twenty years, she was realizing what she should have known after fifteen. That love was compromise and just existing together should have been enough. Even though Jack was lying like a rock beside her, with one flaccid arm thrown over her out of habit, the fact that he was even lying there consistently should have been enough. She knew that. She did. But, somehow, she couldn't just cast aside her dreams of love that, from time to time, sprung up and burned like wildfire, shaking off the ice of the mundane with all consuming reminders of how love existed in fiction. Love that didn't want to leave her and geographically relocate. When she returned to bed, and settled in by his side, she thought it over once, thought it over again and then consented to the reckless, selfish way of doing things. One more attempt at love that burned like wildfire. "Jack! Jack, wake up," she said, shaking him and prodding at his sides with her fingertips.

He made an incoherent noise that sounded like too many consonants and nary a vowel. His eyes opened to mere squints and through clouded vision, he looked at Audrey with a pained expression. "Wha?' was all he could muster from his haze.

"Talk to me."

Jack groaned. He rolled over onto his back and rubbed at his eyes. Yawning deeply, he whimpered in fatigue and frustration. "So, now you want to talk?" he asked.

She nodded.

"You're a real piece of work. Well, fucking talk or I'm going back to sleep."

But then, of course, she couldn't. She couldn't really tell him what was on her mind now that he was expecting it. Therefore, she decided to divert his attention to another subject and then swing around with what was really pressing upon her heart when he wasn't expected it. So much strategy and timing went into the small act of speaking. But everything in Audrey's life had become staged as of late. A five act play which she balanced too many things and tripped over the turning point – only to fight against the falling action when the denouement caught her in its undertow. As the heroine of her own drama, she'd soon find her closing scene, she knew. The end to all of her struggles and the light at the end of the tunnel. There was just the matter of getting there. "Do you think Ray doesn't like me anymore?"

"Huh?" Jack asked. He rubbed his feet against one another and shifted the covers further down across his chest. "God, it's so fucking hot in here," he bemoaned and sat up to peel off the white cotton undershirt that he wore, one of the many with holes under the arms that Audrey had tried, in vain, to patch. He lay back in bed again adjusting the sheets around him until he was pleased. "Now, what did you ask? Ray? Do I think she doesn't like you anymore?" His forehead was wrinkled, the creases of annoyance starting to show.

"That's what I said," Audrey responded. She had only meant to say that one thing, yet she found her tongue loosed and she rambled on. "I mean, I never see her because she's always at Spot's and all. And when she comes home, she's just so aloof and distant. I think she just comes home to pack so she can leave again. I mean, I feel like I can't call her or anything. Like, if I call her, I'll be bothering her. She paid the rent for last month, and that was great and all. Except, when I came home yesterday, there was a note stuck in our door saying that her check bounced. And I haven't told her yet, because she's at Spot's again, and I'm afraid that she'll get annoyed if I call her and bother her over there. I feel like that would be just one more reason for me to lose favour with her. We're nothing like we used to be. I guess I was just some novelty item because I was foreign and new and she lost interest in me." She paused for a moment and then finished up with a lament. "I wish she'd just get a job!"

Jack took it all in, ran his tongue over his bottom lip thoughtfully, and then cleared his throat. "Want to hear what I think?" he asked, and Audrey nodded. "Well, I think you don't want her to get a job...because if she doesn't, then she still needs you. And you want to be needed. You're jealous of her and Spot and think that you don't fit into her life anymore. That's why you resent her so much. Somehow, in your warped little mind, it's easier to resent her than to just tell her this and possibly have her get mad at you. Because she's the only person you think you have, which is not true. You might have forgotten about your other friends, but you still have me. I'm always here….whether or not you want me to be."

Audrey's brow wrinkled and her jaw set. She opened her mouth to protest, but found she could not. Jack was right...as he always was...shooting off sharp little comebacks of utter truth placed in just the right moment so that they would sting.

After his one perfectly placed comment, Jack said no more, and Audrey assumed he'd easily drifted back into unconsciousness. Eyes still glued open, she stared up at the ceiling and pondered his words and thinking, more than she wanted to think, that perhaps he was right. She'd become indifferent to the rest of the world. And she realized then just how what degree of indifferent it was and how careless it was of her to do so.

Lute she hadn't spoken to. April she only saw at the cafe, and their schedules had been offset lately. Nic was fond of holing up in her apartment, lost among the piles of work and school. Visibility was more essential to Audrey's remembrance than she'd admit. Ray, she saw only because they'd had the fortune of living together. And such a fortune made her the most popular person in Audrey's mind because she saw her most. Therefore, she identified Ray with companion – even if she was never there. Audrey had become so wrapped up in the difficulty of it all that she'd become blind to anyone else (though not because she wanted to.) It came down to presence – if one wasn't practically in her face all of the time, one faded because, Audrey believed, that one no longer wished to be friends with her. It was a sick perception of people, she knew that, but it was buried deep in her and she couldn't shake it. She couldn't overcome it enough to realize that her outlook was skewed. Jack was the only one she saw regularly, and therefore, the only one whose thoughts of her she didn't question. He'd become so very good at subtly and obviously making himself known on a constant basis, utterly refusing to allow her lose him in the shuffle. Therefore, because she did not doubt that he wished to be around her, she felt she didn't have to earn his love and therefore, stopped trying to.

She didn't have the time or the effort to devote to pleasing him. Other, more critical and less stable things had to be given higher spots on her priority list. Audrey may have been a disappointment to Jack at times, even if she had not thoroughly stopped trying to make him love her. She just figured that, each day, all past transgressions and events were forgotten. New York was a city of the present tense, an eternal now. It was not a city of the past. Today ruled. She could be forgiven in Jack's mind and she could pay no mind to the people that didn't pay her mind presently. And she'd survive and come out breaking even.

The high waned and her hands and shoulders began to tremble, as though she were shivering from the cold. Audrey turned away from Jack so that he wouldn't notice. Sleep. She just had to sleep and all would be better in the morning. She wrapped her arms around her body and squeezed her eyes shut.

But across the expanse of the bed, contrary to Audrey's assumptions, Jack was still very awake. He was wondering how such happy news had turned into such an ordeal. She had become a foreign concept and sometimes he was utterly lost as to what to do with her. Yet, through it all, Jack found her desperation to be darkly seductive. He wanted a piece of her melancholy and he didn't care what the cost would be. Even if she broke his heart time and time again, there was still something about the way she drew into herself that begged him to rescue her. The thought that he might have the power to do something so gallant made him feel infinite and more significant than he'd ever felt before.

An hour later and still unable to fall asleep, Jack sat up. He watched her and tried to process, in his mind, what was wrong with her. Even peaceful and sleeping like a lamb, she was beyond logic to him. When they'd first met, he'd been so intrigued by her because she seemed so decisive. She knew what she'd wanted and was unapologetic about it. Now, she simply seemed…he didn't know – confused perhaps? Irrational was something he'd always known her to be, but she was taking it to a new level. She'd claim one thing and then turn around and contradict herself. She wanted Jack, wanted to hold him to her and kiss his face. And then, in the same breath, she'd push him away and claim that he was crowding her. That she couldn't breathe or get anything accomplished because she had to cater to his needs. He understood that she was overwhelmed...by school, work, and life. But had she lost her mind in the process? It'd be different if she talked to him and voiced whatever bothered her for he was more than willing to discuss and work everything out. But, true to Audrey-like fashion, she gave him only silent sulking, and threw out a few presumptuous, nonsensical an unfounded statements while he exhausted himself day after day trying to guess what the matter could be. "What's going on in that head of yours?" he whispered to her, fighting back the urge to caress her face for fear she'd wake. "Huh? What's wrong with you Audrey?"

The city had become equated with her. Though he had lived his entire life there, he couldn't remember it without her name surrounding it. He remembered their first dates. They'd go to bars and stay until close, drinking and talking and falling in love. After, they'd close their tab, split a cab, and Jack would call her as soon as he got home to talk more. What had happened to them? How did they go from being envied to envying something they had once but hadn't been able to touch in the present? Sighing, he lay back down and weighed everything once more. It was so easy to get caught in the weight of the world. At the tender age of 23, Jack had often found himself susceptible to it. He had an inkling that perhaps Audrey was caught in the very same undertow. He was generally a hot natured person, but as the thought occurred to him, his skin prickled with chill and he pulled the sheets up around his shoulders. He could pull her out, he thought. He could save her.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

"If you made it in," the girl at the desk said, "Then your piece will be dotted."

Audrey glanced around her, as though she could possibly see if her piece were chosen from there. "Thanks," she told the girl and moved past her, hesitantly seeking her own fortune in the midst of the dots and tragically undotted. She wandered her way through the gallery, eyes darting about the cluttered walls. There were some good pieces, yet some very, very bad. In comparison to the very bad, Audrey mused that if such was her competition, it looked as though she had a very lucrative career in front of her. Or, at least enough talent to get her to the end of university. As she looked for her own, she stumbled upon another. At first sight, she passed by it. But something made her turn and look again, and she was glad she did. It was on paper – layers and layers of watercolour and collage. Crows on a wire – faint traces of their silhouettes and some full bodied ones. And interwoven throughout the piece, was poetry.

"_the air became like rubber, bouncy + sticky,  
__her lungs expanded in hopes of good, dry oxygen  
__but it takes more than air to breathe_

_it takes the rain to fall  
__to sting the sidewalks with relief  
__it takes her a second to see him  
__it seemed like a lifetime, at first  
__wasted on waiting for the skipping  
__of her heart to sing  
__with laughter in her lungs"_

It was beautiful, that she knew. Audrey sighed, knowing very well that she'd never make anything that beautiful. But before she let herself fall back into melancholy, she decided it best to first seek out her own submission's fortune. There, two photographs and one collage over from the piece she'd been fawning over was her own painting. the only one she'd felt had been a blooming shot at making it in. She'd obsessed over which one, if any, to enter. After much inward struggle over her own talent or non-talent, she'd settled on the blue one. It needed a few touch ups, that-, if she rearranged her schedule just so, she'd have time to make. But it was still subtle enough in her mind to be something. Less had been made out to be more, right? She ever so gently, tilted her head to the side to steal a glance at its label.

No dot.

She was one of the tragically undotted. She should have shrugged it off or been angry at them for not recognizing talent when it was right in front of them. For not recognizing her worth. Yes, she was only embarrassed. She stood there, silent, her cheeks flushing hot and that nagging, defeated voice working its way up to full volume. She felt embarrassed for even trying, and she felt embarrassed to simply be standing there in front of it, looking at her absence of a dot. The longer she stood and looked, the more she was making herself available for others to know how much of a failure she was. Fuck. She heaved a deep breath, exhaled it through her teeth, snatched her painting off the wall and masked her desire to cry. She plastered on a not-so-defeated expression, completed with a smile upon her face as she exited the room.

But her escape was not as quick or as clean as she'd imagined it would be. Why should it be? She had a delusional view of everything, apparently.

"Ohhh," the girl as the desk nearly cooed sympathetically, stopping Audrey mid-flight. "You didn't make it in. I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Audrey tossed over her shoulder as though it really were. She gave the girl a generically cordial smile and left before any more words could be exchanged. As she walked out of the door, painting in hand, Audrey could not help thinking of the coin toss. The coin toss had told her the truth – that she wasn't good enough to be any sort of artist. She became indignant of the stupid coin and vowed, oddly enough, to prove it wrong. She could change her stars and she would. She just had to work harder and sleep...even less.

But it was possible.

Audrey walked as fast as she could – out of the building, down the sidewalk. All the while, the piece that she could never be capable of remained imprinted upon her mind. She'd only briefly skimmed over the poem in the collage that had so captivated her, but her subconscious remembered a part of it. What was left of the verses that passed away, forgotten, Audrey herself filled in.

_the pain was there.  
__the unfulfilled dreams lingered like  
__the sad, soft scent of sweet olive  
__blossoms in the air  
__too nostalgic in their chemistry  
__but full all the same_

vvvvvvvvvvv

A smug smile crossed over Kylie's lipsticked mouth. "What?" Audrey asked, instantly defensive. Instantly on edge.

"You know," she returned. "I think you've got a crush. A hot one if I do say so myself."

"What are you talking about? I mean, we've gone out before to a pub, but that wasn't a date. It was with a big group of people and he barely talked to me there."

"That isn't why."

Audrey's face fell a little. "Do you really think that just by having one little dream about him and Maryland could mean anything? I mean, I have dreams about you sometimes, and that doesn't mean anything further than the fact that I probably saw you earlier that day. And Maryland...I know he's from there. But I've never been there. I only found out where it was located about two weeks ago. What significance could that have?"

"Oh so many things!" Kylie replied, popping a stick of gum into her mouth and offering the pack to Audrey, who waved her hand in refusal. "Dreams can mean a lot of things. Especially that we may have feelings for someone that we usually deny we have feelings for. Interesting, isn't it?"

"No. Besides, what do I need him for? I have Jack."

"If I recall correctly, you had a bit of a thing for Ryan before Jack even came into the picture. I remember you getting all dreamy eyed over how green his eyes were. Or how he always walked around with that camera slung around him. This dates to further back than you're admitting. But I don't see why you're denying it. I mean, so you like that boy. I can see why you do. He's a cutie. But you're not going to do anything about it. There's no harm in looking and wondering what another person would be like if they were in bed with you."

"Who? Jack? Jack won't understand."

Kylie swished her brushes into her thinner, wiped them off with two quick licks on a rag and then haphazardly threw them into her bag. "Yeah. He's not an art boy. Art is a very sweet fuck all to anyone who's not in the field

Audrey stopped short and looked at the taller, blonder, more metropolitan girl with wide eyes. "Kylie," she said, mouth slightly agape. "I don't believe I've ever heard you say something more profound. That was almost poetic."

Kylie grinned, no beamed triumphantly at herself. "Well, I like to surprise people sometimes," she said. "But you can't go doing it that often. If you just start spouting off poetry all the time, then it gets boring. I like to keep 'em guessing. That way, they never know what I'm gonna say. Alright chickadee – I think, I'm done for the day. Girlie dinner tonight at my place. My cousins are coming over." Kylie explained as she leaned over and snatched her bag off of the floor. In one fluid motion, it was slung over her shoulder and she was sashaying toward the door with the usual bounce in her step.

She was just one more person walking away.

Audrey waved goodbye as Kylie walked away and turned her attention back to her own work. Rain. Her driveway in Brighton. It had just rained and it was glistening with the setting sun's light hues. At the time she took it, Audrey had been just seventeen. Seventeen and sick of Brighton and the nothingness it provided her with. She'd wanted so much to escape then. Just like Kylie always wanted to escape class early, Audrey thought, looking at the quickly filled in flower on that 'slap-job' painting Kylie had done in order to leave early. Cousins. Friends. Girlie dinner. Her cousins, her lifelong friends, her candidates for a possible 'girly dinner' were all across an ocean. Not a one of them was in movable distance. She recalled a line from a book she'd merely skimmed through earlier. A classmate had pressed it into her hands and told her that she would like it. Audrey had taken it home and glanced at its pages in order to satisfy him and report back with news that she enjoyed it. During the quick flipping of the pages and the bits of sentences she looked over, one line had stood out:

_Home, the place where nothing could touch you._

At that moment, Audrey could not have agreed more. Home really was the place where nothing could touch you, but where you could touch everything if you wished. It was a glorious thought, but a sad one in that she was so very far from any place she could call home. Was it really as wonderful as she remembered? Or was it only shrouded in nostalgia?

Her reverie was broken by Ryan and his usual greeting of "Hey."

"Hey," she responded in turn.

He looked over her shoulder to her canvas, eager to see any new progression. "What're you doin'?"

Ryan meant the painting, and Audrey knew he meant the painting. But what she was doing really had nothing to do with the painting. Therefore, she shrugged and answered as truthfully as she could. "Wasting time."

vvvvvvvvvvvvv

"Jack. Man. What's up? What's the matter with you? You aren't one to talk in circles when a straight line will do." Spot looked at Jack from across the table, his right eyebrow detectably raised higher in question.

"What do you mean?" Jack mumbled, trying to focus more on the cards in his hand than the question at hand. Eight, Three, off-suited. In their two person, makeshift game of five card Hold 'Em, it was the worst possible hand he could have held. But, being that they were only playing low stakes and Spot was inferior to him, Jack decided to risk it. He distractedly raised, haphazardly pushing a few more chips into the center and thereby avoiding Spot's inquiring stare one more.

Spot calmly pressed his two cards together and laid them on the table face down. He slouched down in his chair and examined Jack through a half lidded stare. "What do I mean?" he asked, his voice thick and almost lazy, if not so intentioned. "Well, for starters, I just basically asked you the same question over and over again and you still haven't given me an answer. Santa Fe. Did you get it? Are you going? You said you'd know by now. Well, I'm asking. You know. So, you tell me."

"I don't know."

"Ugh." Spot rolled his eyes and threw a hand into the air. "Here we go again. What do you mean? You got too many things to think of at once? Should I start off more simply? Did you get the scholarship?"

"Yes," Jack answered.

"Okay. Now we're makin' some ground. Are you going?"

"I don't know."

"Why the hell not?" Spot had raised his voice. He had practically cried out in disbelief. "For a guy who won't shut up about his precious Santa Fe, he sure is actin' funny now that he has the chance of fulfilling his lifetime DREAM and goin' there. What gives?"

Jack threw his cards down and brought one elbow and then the other to rest on the table top. He buried his hands in his hair, stroking it back and groaning. "I don't wanna talk about it. I'm not even sure if I've got any of it figured out. I don't want to talk about it."

"That ain't gonna fly and you know it, Kelly," Spot said, his voice noticeably darker. Sterner.

"Oh?" Jack snorted. "Well, you wanna talk about Ray and how you fucked up with her? The whole incident with Josephine? Huh? You wanna talk about that?"

"Shut your trap, Jacky boy. You're pushin' it."

Jack looked up and regarded his friend. "My point exactly. Leave me the hell alone about the scholarship until I figure out what I want to do about it. You're not exactly helping."

"Look, I don't know if this is helpful either. But all I know is that if you pass up this chance for some fucking broad, then you're out of your skull. I been listening to you talk about your precious Santa Fe since you was old enough to know what it was. Now, you have this big, bright, golden opportunity because some girl doesn't want you to go, then I can't respect you. And that's that."

"I never said Audrey had anything to do with it."

"Yeah, but you ain't fooling me. I've seen enough to know what girls can do. And you got the looks of someone who's got a girl on his mind in a really mean way. I don't know if she's affecting your decision or not. But you better not make it based on what she thinks. You better make it based on what you want, Jacky boy. Cause if you don't, you're gonna regret it for the rest of your ever lovin' life."

"Can we play cards now?" Jack asked, wearily, exhausted of all the talk of his big decision. He'd rather not think about it if he could afford the opportunity. It was a huge decision that would affect his life forever, and it made him sick each time he thought about it. He'd hoped pissing around and playing an easy game of poker with Spot would make do for a break, maybe conjure up a little much needed sanity for the both of them. He was quickly being proven wrong.

"Yeah, hit me," Spot responded.

"I can't," Jack said, holding the deck of cards in his hand and shuffling them absentmindedly, shutting his mind off and letting his practised hands to all the work. "This is Hold 'Em. Not Blackjack."

"What's the big difference? Cards are cards."

"Okay, keep thinking that way and I'll keep taking your money," Jack said with a shrug.

"Deal the fucking cards, Jack. And stop talking about my money that way."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Audrey stood at the counter of Streetside Charley's and watched the world go by. Outside, people were walking by in suits and dresses. Men with boutonnières in their button holes, talking on cells phones and vaguely holding the hands of the women following along side of them. Women, walking too quickly in heels too high and dresses that tightly clung to their stick straight or overweight frames. Their feet would hurt later, Audrey thought. Where were they going? To a wedding? To a funeral? To the symphony?

Last night, she was woken out of an accidental nap by someone playing the Imperial March from Stars Wars on the trumpet. At first she thought she was dreaming. And then, she thought she was crazy. She strained her ears to listen, and finally discerned that maybe the sound was real and not fabricated by her mind. But why the trumpet? And why the Imperial March? She grinned as she pictured a forlorn Jedi Knight serenading his galactic princess with the foreboding sound. But then she thought that maybe someone was just practicing their instrument. She thought of Jack, practising his instrument, and how he probably wasn't at that moment. It was still a nice thought.

She'd gotten to work early for the lunch shift. She didn't know why – for she was still exhausted from her usual non-sleeping. But early, she was to stand at the counter and fill a few drinks. To take a few sandwich orders from her small number of tables. She looked at her watch, the one Jack had given her for Christmas, and noticed that eleven thirty was coming on quickly and the lunch rush was soon to begin. They were understaffed that day. She knew this because they'd called her to come in that night with no prior notice. She sighed and walked herself to the bathroom, grabbing a tri fold menu on her way the way. Locking herself into one of the stalls she placed the menu over the seat of the toilet, balancing it on both sides. Then, from her pocket, she produced a tiny bag and a dollar bill.

Hours passed. A few more trips to the bathroom were made. As she walked back and forth, table to kitchen to front counter to table to kitchen to another table, she vaguely noticed the darkening sky outside. It was clouding over. Clouding over and then letting the sun break though. And then, once again clouding over. Audrey wondered if it would rain, as she always did. Last week, there'd been a shower. It happened briefly, while she was sleeping and the only thing she knew of it was the puddles and the sludge it left behind. It wasn't enough for her. She needed a thunderstorm. And now, the clouds over head nearly promised to pour out their contents upon the dry, aching city. But it was such a lofty promise for them to make, Audrey knew, and it would very likely not yield any fruit. Just as she imagined, the inconstant sky let the sun break through again, to peer out in jest. Then the rain soaked clouds gave way fully, the sky lightening to its fullest scope and drenching the city in a golden glow instead of water.

It was perhaps, the saddest thing Audrey had ever seen, despite its outward beauty.

There was a rumble, and Audrey's hopes shot up once more, but one glance out and skyward told her that it was the byproduct of nearby construction. Strange. Even her ears were willing to betray in want so desperately. She walked back into the kitchen to retrieve three plates of food and then carried them to their appropriate table. She carried like this, repeating the action over and over as business picked up during the lunch hour rush until it seemed like some sort of numb ritual. On one particular trip back to the kitchen, she tripped over a wayward object, probably her own foot, and as if in slow motion, dropped the tray and fell to her knees. Glass shattered and scattered about. Audrey bent over her tray, unmoving, only staring at the ground for a second, before springing into motion and gathering up all of the pieces onto her tray. She felt a sharp prick as she reached for a shard of glass. Dropping it, she slowly brought her palms up to examine them. Across her right middle finger, one stinging memento was left. It was cut, slashed as though ripped into during a downward motion. Not deeply enough to cause any major damage, but bleeding all the same. All action halted as she stared at the gouge in her flesh and watched, magnetized, as the sticky red brown liquid oozed out of it and dripped onto the floor.

"_Audrey."_

She heard her name being called, but it sounded so muffled and so far away. "Audrey." There it was again. Audrey did not bother to look up. She only stared at the back of her hand and wondered why she was so unable to tear her sight away from it.

"Audrey," her name was called once more. Audrey slowly glanced up to see April standing above her. Her violet hair seemed particularly vibrant as she stood in contrapposto, with her hips askew and one hand resting on the right one. "Audrey," she squawked once more. "Jesus Christ, Audrey! Are you alright? Get up from the floor, girl." April bent over, grabbing Audrey by the elbows and pulling her upward. "You okay?" she asked, concern showing in her eyes.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine. I'm just…" Audrey lifted her hand to show April her cut.

"God, you're bleedin' like crazy, hon. I think there's a first aid kit in the back. It might be twenty years old, but BandAids are BandAids, right?"

Audrey looked back over her shoulder and gestured toward the glass on the floor. "But, I…there's glass all over the-"

April swiftly cut her off. "Oh, just leave it. Todd or Javier will clean it up. They never do anything anyway. You're making them earn their paycheck," April mused. She grabbed a hold of Audrey's arm once more and tugged her in the direction of the kitchen. "Now, come on, Bloody Mary, you're starting to scare the clientele."

vvvvvvvvvvvv

Audrey heard Ray's presence in the apartment before she ever saw her. After hearing the door swing open and creak as if it were being torn off of its hinges, she heard it slam just as violently. Intrigued, she put down her broken earring and the pliers she was using to repair it and stuck her head outside the curtain just in time to see a violet Gucci bag become airborne and fly across the room. It hit the wall opposite the door and slide down to the floor, landing with a dull thud. Audrey stepped out of her room to assess the situation. She first looked at the discarded bag and then swung her head around to the right to see Raven, hunched over and angrily pulling at the buckles of her shoes. She looked inflamed, to say the least. Her hair was tangled and windblown, her sweat shirt thrown on haphazardly, and her makeup creased and smudged around the edges of her eyes. Ray finally pried the buckles undone and discarded her shoes. She stood up straight, noticed Audrey and promptly screamed.

"I hate him!" Ray growled. Yes, there was no mistake about it. She was fuming.

Audrey didn't bother to ask questions. From Ray's demeanour, she could pretty well gather just who the object of her rage was. Only one person had gotten under her skin well enough to provoke that amount of sound and fury. Despite Ray's tumult, Audrey remained calm. A placid expression plastered upon her face, she merely sighed and said, "I'm sorry."

Ray looked stricken. She froze in place, shaking her head slightly, and then more forcefully. It wasn't to negate Audrey's apology. But more to communicate her own disbelief. Raven's pretty face twisted into a crumpled, pained expression. Her bottom lip began to tremble and she shook her head again, throwing loose bits of hair into her face. Angrily, she pushed them away, letting a small strained whimper escape from the back of her throat. That one sound was a crack in the dam, for soon following came one visible tear. Raven's face collapsed along with it. After another gasp worked its way free, she turned on her heel and bolted for her room. Audrey heard the spring of the bed as it gave into Raven's body when the girl threw herself upon it.

Ray didn't ask for Audrey's support, but she didn't have to. Audrey understood it as well as if it had been dictated to her. It was now her duty, as best friend and fellow female, to march into the bedroom and set about comforting the distraught Raven. She went back to her room and looked at the earring in pieces, the pliers, and her to-do list. It was long, as usual. But, unlike the usual, Audrey had set aside that afternoon to accomplish most of the things on the list. It looked as though the list were thoroughly out. She'd be spending the rest of the day eating cookies and agreeing vigorously with Ray when she lamented about the cruel, cold nature of boys. "Sure Ray," Audrey thought as she slipped the pliers back into the drawer and the pieces of the earring into an empty dime bag. "I'll help you. I'll give and give and give and you can just take like you normally do. But you'll never acknowledge that anyone may be doing anything for you. No, you're wonderfully oblivious. What if I just stopped Ray? What if I did? What would you do then?" But through the walls and the poorly hung curtains, Audrey could still hear her sobbing. So, she pushed thoughts of her own victimization out of her mind and herself of her chair and trudged into the bathroom to gain a little patience. Moments later, she returned, looking still somewhat sleepy, but feeling much more tolerant. She walked into Ray's room and sat beside her on the bed. She carefully lifted and hand and stroked the back of Ray's hair as the girl sobbed into her pillow.

"It's not fair!" she wailed in between shaky breaths. "OH MY GOD! He had his face stuck...AAAARGH...her! I saw him. I fucking saw him and then he goes and denies it. GOD. Does he think I'm stupid? I mean, does he? Well, maybe I am stupid. For staying with him. For thinking that he loved me and would never go back to her! I am such a motherfucking idiot! Damn me! Damn her for that matter! Damn them both! Aaaaah!"

"Wait, Ray...calm down, love," Audrey said with perfect serenity about her. She stroked the long chestnut waves of hair and wondered just what the fuss was all about anyway. "Tell me what happened, Ray. Tell me in a logical storyline so that I can understand all of this. Because you're not making any sense between the crying and the damning people to hell."

Ray laughed a bit, in spite of herself, and loudly sucked snot back through her nostrils and rubbed her pretty little reddened nose. Then, she began to relate the course of events, as calmly as she could, berate as she was.

_She had walked in on him and her, she claimed, catching them dead in the act. She'd been at dancing, having only have left Spot's apartment for two hours. But a two hour window must have been time enough, for in that time, somehow, Jo had come over and found herself entangled in one hell of a lip lock with her ex boyfriend. Ray had had a good day at dance class, having been complimented on more than one occasion. She bounced back to the upper east side, still clad in tights, a sweatshirt, and a lopsided ponytail. She swung open the door, perky and bright, and walked into the living room cheerful as a fucking Pollyanna. Spot was sitting in his usual chair. Jo was standing above him. She wore an ivory coloured shell and a pair of charcoal pants. The scarf so perfectly twined around her neck was wine-coloured, Ray claimed. Wine coloured of all things. Josephine was bent at the waist, and both were so thoroughly involved in each other, that they had obviously not heard the opening of the door and Ray's steps across the floor._

_She stood there for a moment, paralyzed and watching in absolute horror. Finally she was able to mutter a very abrupt, "Excuse me." Jo shot up in fright and Spot looked uncomfortable, if only slightly so. Jo cleared her throat, looked to Spot and then back to Ray. She mumbled a quick, "Don't mind me. I was just leaving," and then vanished from the loft leaving Ray to stare at Spot with hurt and malice. "How could you?" she spat to him, voice all filled with venom of one would was about to cry but didn't want to._

_Spot looked white, but otherwise unfazed. "How could I what?" he asked._

_Ray's blood boiled in her veins. "You know what," she told him, pointedly. "I can't believe you," she hissed and then promptly retreated into his bedroom to pack up what things she could in the small frame of time she allotted herself to make a clean escape. Any minute over that time in which she'd stay, she'd only melt in his presence and give into his cool, seductive words. No, if she were ever going to leave him, she'd have to do so in five minutes or less. Time was ticking. Raven was packing. She threw things into bags messily, not caring if they were folded, wrinkled, or knotted. Spot soon appeared at the doorway. _

"_You're not leaving, are you?" he said._

_Ray felt her blood begin to boil once more. "You can't be serious, can you?" she shot back and then snorted. "You're a lot of things, Spot Conlon. Hell, you just showed me a few of the things that you are. But you're not stupid. So don't even try that shit with me." She shoved the last few things into a bag and vowed she'd pick the rest up later when she was saner and he wasn't home. (It was what the key was for, anyway. Wasn't it? Emergencies. This certainly constituted as an emergency in Ray's mind.) And then she set about leaving, pushing past him when she came to the doorway that he'd blocked with his body._

_She could hear him sigh as she walked away, lugging three bags that were much too heavy for her. (Anger had made her stronger that she usually was.) "Ray, stop. Come back," he said. But she kept on walking, plodding, charging onward, one step at a time towards his door. "Ray," he called out again. But she paid no mind. She told herself that she didn't hear him. That she was immune to the words of those who lied. But Spot tried one more time. "Stop," he said. "Please. Stop. Mia." And she almost stopped. Hearing her name, her true name was almost enough to make her turn back – if not in tenderness toward him, then in surprise. But to her approval and satisfaction, she did herself a favour and kept right on going – out of his door, down the elevator, out the front doors, and onto the street. Where she hailed a cab and left her luggage at the bottom of the stairs of their third story walk up. And made her way back home._

"My bags are still down there," she said, wiping away tears. "I don't care though. I'll go back for them later." Ray's breath heaved in and out of her chest in ragged, sobbing sighs as she retold her story. "I'm so fucking stupid, aren't I, Audrey? Aren't I?"

"You're not stupid, Ray."

Ray grunted in disagreement. "Ha. I'm so fucking stupid. One for thinking that a guy like him would go for a girl like me. I mean, I know I'm fabulous and all. But he's a painter and he's rich and he's so smooth and so damn out of my league! I should have known better. And two, for thinking that he'd actually prefer me over her – perfect, perfect, perfect Josephine. The actress. The one who's so pulled together and flawless that I could rip ever last strand of her hair out and be happy doing so!"

"You're not stupid, Ray," Audrey said again, somewhat unconscious of the fact that she was repeating her own words over and over.

"Then what am I? Because I'd certainly like to know." Ray looked at Audrey hard and long until she could feel the tears began to prick at her eyes again. She rubbed them away angrily with the back of her hand. "Gah!" she said. "I'm acting like a big baby. Crying over some damn boy I should have never gotten involved with in the first place. I told myself I wasn't going to get seriously involved with any boy. I was better off when I was screwing around. At least I didn't have to worry about getting cheated on that way. I was the one they were cheating with. I was the one who captivated their attention and turned their heads. I was the untouchable one...the one with all the power. Those poor girls. Now I know how they felt." She sniffled loudly, angrily rubbing at her eyes once more. "I did all of that and now it's coming back to haunt me. I deserve it. I'm so stupid." Ray wiped again at her watery eyes, but this time could not withhold the stream of tears that pushed their way past her defenses and trickled down her face in multitudes. "Oh, God! Audrey!" she moaned as she laid her head back down once more and took refuge in the comfort of her pillow.

Audrey watched Ray shake and cry, watched her back heave up and down with angry, bitter sobs. She felt so sorry for her. So sorry, but she didn't know what to say. Not one supportive word came to mind – Audrey knew that even if they did, her mere words wouldn't be of any used to Raven. Though she could ramble on at anytime of the day about nothing like a true champion, Audrey wasn't much for talking when it really counted. What could she do? She could take a cab over to the Upper East and claw Spot's eyes out with her fingernails. She could bake Ray a cake to cheer her up. Or, she could stay right by her side and run her hand over Ray's now mangled waves of hair, smoothing them and attempting to comfort her. The last, she thought, suited the situation best. Besides, she was numb, but she was patient and attentive, just like Ray would have wanted her to be. She got up, went into the kitchen and filled the largest glass she could find with whiskey. She returned to Ray's bedroom and shoved the glass under her nose.

Ray lifted her head weakly and looked up in confusion. "Whass that?" she asked, in between hiccupped sniffled.

"Whiskey," Audrey answered.

"We have that?"

"We do indeed. Now, drink it. It won't make anything go away. But it might make you a little tipsy, which will ease some of the hatred temporarily."

"The hatred will never be eased," Ray spat back assuredly. She took the glass from Audrey and chugged it down unflinchingly. She set the glass down on her nightstand, hiccupped once more, and then ran the back of her hand over her mouth and cringed with distaste. "That's strong stuff."

"It's supposed to be."

Ray laid back down and whimpered pathetically murmuring here and there to Audrey about how she should have known and how stupid she was and whatnot. Audrey remained by her side though her dramatics, patiently listening, and reassuring her. After a while, the bitter murmuring subsided and Ray lay there, face still in pillow, and only sighed. "How now, brown cow?" Audrey asked, still stroking her silky hair, but wondering if Ray might let her braid it.

Ray shrugged. "Well, I don't know if anything's any better. But everything's a little more blurry and warm."

"That'll have to do for now."

"The hurt will all go away, love," Audrey whispered.

"Did it for you?" Ray asked.

Audrey cringed. She was surprised that Ray had remembered. She, herself, had nearly forgotten that she'd told Ray about her relationship with Michael and the disintegration of it. But then, she'd told Ray nearly everything, except most of the events of the last month. The truth was, the pain never really subsided. Audrey could forget about it most of the time, but at the worst possible moments, she was always reminded. The hurt, the mistrust, and the tendency to crawl back into her shell in self protection never left her. She assumed there would always be some part of her that as forever stung by Michael's betrayal, even if later in life, she couldn't recall what it was. "Yes," Audrey lied through her teeth. "It did even for me."

* * *

I've recently been made aware that we can't say thank you in personal notes at the end of chapters anymore. Therefore, I just want to say an overall thank you to those of you who read, and especially to those of you who review. You'll never know how much it means to me, but you'll always have my gratitude.

Maybe one day when I'm not so lazy and burdened, I'll start responding to reviews via emails, in order to not let the correspondence die. (Because as we all know, I'm huge on preservation.)


	12. so what if it is

_A/N: I know, I know…it's been five months since the last update. Dry spells are terrible, and life is just that – you can't help but live it…and sometimes, in living it, there's no room for the energy, devotion, and reflection that writing demands. _

Chapter 12. so what if it is.

"This is the dumbest thing you've ever done, Kelly," Jack mumbled to himself as he looked at the last words in front of his flashing cursor. Forehead resting on his palm, he blankly stared at the screen, sighing heavily with resignation. A small part of him slowly died as he saved the document and sent it to the printer. He watched as the paper was fed in and then slowly passed through, unhappy black text marring the once clean paper. Text that, like him, was full of resignation. "Dear Sirs and Madams," it read. "I appreciate your choosing me as the candidate for the Barnes-Neuman scholarship. However, it is with deep regret that I write to inform you that I cannot accept…"

When had everything gotten so real? And so pressing? It seemed as though just the other day, Jack were wearing a blue plastic cowboy hat and riding a toy horse, dreaming of the west. Years had flown by and he was now a twenty three year old dashing the dreams he had worked so hard for. But he was still young, at twenty three, and still young enough to make mistakes and repair their damage later. There would be plenty of time for travel – for empty western skies, desert landscapes, and warm, dry freedom.

Yet, it was still very difficult for him to accept that he had written the letter in the first place, much less intended on sending it in. Every word of it was written with regret, with the cold, hard lump of settling in his throat. But he knew exactly what he was doing. "I wanna make this work," he told himself over and over. "I wanna make this work." Every time he'd start to show a hint of doubt or a pang of regret, he'd repeat his mantra. _I want to make this work._

His first instincts, his first lofty perceptions of how it would all turn out were just that - lofty. The assumption that he could ask another person to just drop everything and follow him blindly across the country was far fetched. She had already crossed an ocean. How could he ask to her trek across rivers, mountains, and eventually a desert? Stupid as it might have been to decline, he loved a girl far more than he loved a city, and deep within his heart, Jack felt as though his love could last a lifetime if he paid it its respect. It was not the first decision of that nature he had made.

_Years ago, when he was just starting college, he applied to a school in Santa Fe and was accepted. He was gearing up to go, but unpacked all of his dreams when he saw the look of disappointment painted all over Sarah's face. His love with her was newly budding, and strong, Jack thought. Hell, sometimes, late at night, he even fantasized about marrying her and having the traditional 2.3 children and the token white picket fence. Whether it was infatuation's chemical intoxication or his own fears that made up his mind, he didn't know. However, when the day of decision came, he told the university "No thank you" and then took Sarah to the midnight showing of Amelie at the Angelika. Love had always been more important. All of the initial remorse and regret subsided because, he thought at the time, love was the one thing that wouldn't let him down. But it did, and he was stuck in New York amidst all of his 'training ground' failures. He sighed, he cursed, but eventually, he sucked it up and moved on with his life. _

Poor Jack.

He was perhaps the last of the great romantics, still stuck believing that true love could conquer any adversary. And always believing that a love that he shared with another would be enough to carry them through. In his determined mind, any problem could be resolved, any wrongs made right, and any heart made unbroken if one would just work hard enough at doing it. He would love, love, love until he died. It was really the only way to go about it. No one paid attention to the status of their relationships anymore. No one tended to the relationship and worked at bettering it. No one knew the secret solution that Jack had figured out – the only obligation in a relationship was to love each other, and everything else took care of itself.

The click clack of the printer's tray told them that it had finished. He plucked his letter from its clutches, read over it once, and then second time through, only skimmed. The paper was the tri-folded and stuffed into an envelope It was cowardly, that way. The written way. He knew he probably should have called or made a personal appearance, but either choice left open too much of an opportunity for someone to talk him out of his decision. For someone to talk some sense into him. No. He had made his choice and he was going to stick to it. He licked the flap and sealed the letter inside before he scrawled an address upon its front and stuck on a stamp. He didn't bother with a return address. He trusted that it would get there. Somehow, it felt less obvious and more secure if they didn't know who was sending it before they opened and read. He felt like a fool. Here was the opportunity of a lifetime placed into his hands, and here he was giving it back. "Oh well," he thought. "Better to give it to someone who would truly appreciate it rather than someone who would half heartedly go and pine away for New York as soon as he'd left. He'd always wanted to escape the city. Now that his chance had come for the second time, he once again, stayed put.

It seemed there was always something tying him to the city and, more often than not, it was the ribbons of a feminine persuasion. It broke his heart a second time that he had to say no. But as he coddled his dipping spirits, he reminded himself of just how much worse it would be to live miles apart from the one he loved. (Even if she was impossible.) It was a sickening thought to him, the thought of not seeing her face light up in person. – only having to imagine how warming it was as he chained himself to a phone, hoping to catch every word and to have a memory to match every lilt and twist of her drawling voice so he'd feel like he wasn't missing anything. The rough spot they were going through was just that – a rough spot. It was no reason to throw it all away for the sake of some childhood fantasy…

But oh, Santa Fe. His first love. On second thought….

Jack withdrew the paper from its envelope, unfolded it, and looked the letter over once more. His mouth tightened to a thin lipped frown as he crumpled it in the palm of his hand. He threw it in the wastebasket and returned to his computer. Sitting in the chair, he slumped down, leaning back far enough for the back of his head to rest on the chair's backrest. He glanced at the digital clock to his right. His body would be giving up soon and begging him to turn in, he knew. Jack sniffed at one armpit and then the other. He still stank of the bar and his own sweat. Yawning, he sat up. Going to his computer, he strengthened two sentences that seemed apologetic and indecisive. (For, if he was going to do this, he had to seem like he was certain that he knew what he was doing.) He glanced over the words once again, stood, and stretched his arms over his head. Before walking to the bathroom, he clicked the left button on his mouse. Once he heard the printer begin to feed the paper through, he walked toward the bathroom, stripping his shirt off along the way.

vvvvvvvvvvvv

With mild interest, Audrey fingered the wood of the bench upon which she sat. She checked her watch. An oak tree grew up and out above her. The midday sunlight filtered down through its newly budding leaves and cast soft patterns across the sidewalk. She again looked at the red watch that Jack had given her and scowled. _Late._ With a disappointed sigh, she dug into her messenger bag and pulled out an apple. Using the hem of her t-shirt, she gave it a good shining before sinking her teeth into its skin. Holding the apple in her mouth, she pulled her knees up to her chest, embracing the open sketchpad between her legs and body as she did. Across the park sat a couple on a similar park bench. They were laughing, she noticed. Laughing as they ate sandwiches wrapped in foil and single serving bags of chips. Holding hands in between bites. Audrey hated them without knowing quite why.

"Oh there you are!" a shrill, singsong voice called out. Audrey smelled the sweet, spicy aroma of Ray's favourite perfume before she turned to see the girl herself dropping down onto the bench with one deft motion. _Oh, there you are, _was what rolled off of her tongue offhandedly, as though Audrey were the one at fault. As though she were some silly, directionless child who had wandered off to the wrong place, and not all the spot Ray had specifically told her to meet her. Audrey removed the fruit from her mouth, ripping off a bit of its flesh as she did. She didn't wait to finish chewing the hunk of apple before speaking. She didn't wait to be polite. "Yes," she answered, certain that her annoyance was only halfway visible through her flat tone. "And I've been sitting here for about a half hour. You're late. Where were you?"

Raven scoffed. She shook her head and then said matter-of-factly, "On my way here, of course. I couldn't get a cab, and then you know how traffic is at this hour. Those yuppie lawyers and their precious lunch hours. Motherfuckers…." How naturally and pleasantly she spoke, as she fished in her bag for what Audrey was sure could only be a cigarette. "What'd you think I was doing? Buying a new pair of shoes that I couldn't afford?" she asked, the frustration on her face giving way to a smile as she produced, to Audrey's surprise, not a cigarette but a pretzel. A large, soft pretzel that she placed upon her lap and began to gently unfold the foil wrapper from.

"Yes. That's what I expected."

"Now Audrey, no need to get fussy," Ray reprimanded, as though, again, speaking to a child. (She often spoke to Audrey as though she were a child. Audrey didn't know if she meant it or if it were just out of habit, but she found it patronizing, regardless.) She waved her hand in a carefree sort of way as though it alone excused her from bothering to answer the question.

Audrey tightened her jaw and watched in silence as Ray wrinkled her nose and set about peculiarly brushing at the pretzel with her hand. "I waited for you forever," Audrey muttered. "Would it kill you to be on time? And what are you doing?"

"Getting the salt off. I don't like it," Raven replied calmly, and kept right on knocking the salt crystals off with her fingertips.

"Why don't you just buy an unsalted one?"

"They don't taste the same. Besides, I was in a hurry and I couldn't be picky. I knew you'd get your panties in a wad if I didn't."

"That didn't help matters. You were already late. I think that if you used an extra second to ask for an unsalted pretzel it would not have set you back any further than you were already going to be."

"Whatever," was the final verdict that Ray issued, ending the tennis-match of dialogue and making her perfectly justified and Audrey only a nuisance.

"Well…" Ray's voice lifted at the end, a grin came over her face. She looked as though she had a very, very good secret and the joy was going to explode out of her if she contained it a second longer. "He apologized. And explained. Turned out it was just a misunderstanding."

"He explained? And you listened? Without throwing a vase at him or screaming every time he opened his mouth?"

She clicked her tongue against the top of her pallet and shrugged in a way that could have been sheepish on an average person. "Yeah, well…you know me. Sometimes I'm reasonable. I don't make a habit of it or anything. Besides, the other day I was reading in my quote book this quote…something about it being hard to thinking something else once you've made up your mind about something. About how something thought is hard to be unthought, even if it is proven otherwise. And I thought…ha ha ha – thought…all this thinking!...that that was exactly what I was doing. I had set my mind to _thinking _about my version of what I had seen and didn't even stop to think that there may have been another explanation. He was really genuine about. I can always tell when people are lying. It's just like this sixth sense that I've always had – to be able to tell when people are lying. He so wasn't lying. And also I supposed that I could go on and be bitter and fuck a million guys, but I'd still just be unhappy. So, I figured, what the hell…and gave him another shot….because I love him and there's not going to be anybody as good as him. Is that wrong? To give him another chance because I love him? That doesn't mean I'm a sad little bitch who's got nothing to do with her time than be a sap for some penis. Because you know, there aren't many people that I can say I like, much less love. For me to love someone, it really must be something. I'm going to marry this man. Yes, I think I am…besides, the minute I saw him again, I wanted to fuck his brains out…."

As Ray accentuated her words with rapid, emphatic gestures of her hands, Audrey let her eyes slip out of focus and her mind wander amongst the hazy motion created. She'd been having an okay week so far – the first in what felt like ages. Halfway done on a painting, she felt productive….as though she actually had a handle on the assignment and was getting something done well. She and Ray had gone out to dinner the night before, gotten smashed, and bonded in extravagantly girly ways. Jack had been pleasant and jovial. Before that moment, everything had been going her way….but as she sat listening, a sensation of dread grabbed her in its clutches and began to skillfully pick her apart.

_Snap, snap._ Ray waved her hand in front of her friend's face and beckoned her back to the land of the living. "Audrey? Are you listening? God, you have the attention span of a small dog. Anyway, he called. And he never calls, so I was like, 'What the fuck man? Something must be up.' And turns out it was. Turns out Jo just attacked him and planted a kiss on him and I had very, very bad timing and walked in on it. And then we went out to dinner at Evangeline's….just like on our first date. And he bought me amaryllises. Red ones. The flower of love – just like on our first date. Everything was so perfect, perfect. And we kissed, - he is such a good kisser. Such great lips. Then we went back to his apartment and made love and there were all these candles and he is such a good fuck! And I missed him so much!"

"Of course you did."

"That's such an Audrey thing to say. I tell you all of this wonderful news. This great, gigantic piece of news and you look away into the distance, shrug and say 'of course.' If I didn't know you so well, I'd be offended." Raven broke off a piece of the soft pretzel and casually popped it into her mouth. She chewed on it thoughtfully and then laughed.

_It was that same, low, throaty, utterly enchanting laugh that Ray had always possessed. The one she had so often heard into late hours of the night while Audrey was painting and Ray was entertaining yet another of her meaningless flings. Locked into her room with the boy of the night, Raven would laugh as the boy made passes at her. Never the high shrieking laugh she'd share with Audrey, but that low, satisfied one that came as easily to her as breathing. Audrey would hear the laughing, the creaking of the bed under them, the occasional moan or broken word and she'd roll her eyes. Roll her eyes and wait it out. And sure enough, after the night faded into morning and Raven dismissed another failed suitor from her chamber, the laughter would subside into quiet. The door would open and shut. Audrey would count the seconds in-between, expecting the usual routine. Surely enough, Ray would sling a curtain back and stick her head inside. Looking disheveled, but beautifully so, she'd yawn and say she was turning in. "Hope we didn't disturb you too much," she'd add with a smile._

_To which, Audrey would shrug and wipe off a brush or put down a pencil, close a book even if she were in the middle of a sentence. "That one a keeper?" she would ask, knowing the answer._

"_No. His left ear was bigger than his right," Ray would say. It was always that way. His hand would be too small, his stature too slumped, a freckle on the end of his nose where there should not have been one. The same trivial, but oh so vital little imperfections that Audrey had come to rely on. With blown kiss through the air, Raven would bid goodnight and leave her flat mate to her own devices._

Maybe Jack was right. It was all looking sickly obvious now. Maybe Audrey needed Ray for so much that she couldn't admit to…and she therefore, needed Ray to need her in the same way. She'd been Ray's constant standby in the months of causal dating and casual one night stands. It was all made up for in her mind when they would both sit out on the balcony with glasses of cheap wine, Ray reading articles from Glamour aloud. But when Spot had come, she'd only been able to stand in the background and with a saddened face as Spot became the new best of everything. When Raven had sworn him off and gone dashing back into the arms of her former best, Audrey had caught a glimmer of that possible need and love and had been all to happy to accept her with open arms. And only months later, she was leaving little messages for her beloved room mate to meet her in some cliché section of trees and grass to tell her the "good news." Well, fuck her good news. Audrey took a deep breath, one long enough to think over and correctly word what she wanted to say. However, it did not mean that she actually thought over or corrected anything. Instead, she tilted her head to the side and remarked, "Ray, I think I liked you better when you were sleeping with half of New York."

Ray was silent. Audrey could tell that she struck deep with her words, but no visible evidence remained on Ray's face for longer than three seconds. Directly after Audrey spat out her backhanded condemnation, Raven's face fell ever so slightly. The joy drained from it and she looked rather stunned. To save herself, she quickly glanced downward toward her pretzel and shrugged, giving it and Audrey supposed, herself, a shy half smile. Even a laugh to supplement. She picked off a stray salt crystal and gave the utmost attention to causally tossing it aside. Then she gazed off into the distance, while Audrey chewed on her apple and regretted saying anything. A tense silence passed between them. No words were uttered and Audrey couldn't be sure what the next thing to come out of the girl's mouth would be. She expected the worse though. She expected Raven to take a strong verbal lashing into her – to be her usual direct self and inform Audrey of just how wrong she was. But, to Audrey's surprise, all Raven responded with was a, "And what brought this on?"

_What? Perhaps it was the way Raven had glorified "her Spot", glorified him even though he had done her so much wrong. Perhaps it was the way she'd lounge around all day in lieu of him, only to go to sleep early, peacefully while Audrey looked on in jealousy. Perhaps it was how she lamented to Audrey – lamented, questioned, analyzed the situation to death and how Audrey had made time to listen and offer advice…happily…only to have it blow up in her little English face. Perhaps it was the way that she'd almost felt like she had her best friend back for good, only to lose her for a fancy restaurant and some insignificant red flowers. Perhaps it was a great many things that had just been mounting, but perhaps all of these things would never be said to Ray._

"I don't know," Audrey said, still annoyed. But she did know and simply did not want to admit it. There was nothing in her that could muster up the nerve to tell ray that she felt as though she were no longer needed and could not live with that. Such was admitting weakness. So, she struggled to find some line of reasoning to justify her words. A creative way around telling the whole truth in plain terms. "I feel…" she began, pausing to take a deep breath. "I feel like I don't know you anymore, Ray. Over the last few months you've changed. You're never around – you're always with that boy. You live for that boy and you let him kill you just the same. That's not the Raven I knew. The carefree one who cared what no one thought of her and only believed in late nights, beautiful things, living the hell out of every second, and the stage. This is not the way we were supposed to live our life. This is not what we believe in." For the first time in her life, Audrey thought she had silenced Ray – for the girl looked as though she had absolutely no idea what to say. Surprisingly, she was not pleased (as she always thought she would be). No, it almost sickened her. Turning away from Ray's hard stare of hurt, Audrey only felt hollow.

"_Self righteous as usual." _She was certain those were the words that Raven bitingly mumbled under her breath, but she didn't dare ask Ray to repeat herself. Instead, she cautiously glanced back over her shoulder to see Ray take one contemplative, sullen bite, and then another. The park was the widest and most open place she knew in New York, yet she felt caged – chained to the bench. Her stomach tightened into knots, a sickening heaviness settling in. Audrey felt as though she'd swallowed her apple whole instead of taking it in small contemplative bites. She held its core in her hand and watched the happy couple across the way once more. Audrey finished her apple, and Ray finished her pretzel. Neither of them uttered not a word to the other until Ray finished. She balled up her foil, took up her bag and stood. "Goodbye Audrey," she said, flatly and then departed, gliding away with swift little steps in her smart shoes.

Audrey sat staring intently into space, still as a stone on her beloved bench, the bench she clung to as her knuckles grew white. The couple across from her picked up and left. A businessman with a creased bow and a cell phone implanted into his ear flung his briefcase on the bench, and then sat down beside it. "What? What?" he yelled into his phone. "How did this happen?" Audrey wanted to ask the same thing, but she knew it wouldn't do any good. She slid her sketchbook into her bag, and checked her watch. She mentally tucked her ribbons of hurt and betrayal (the pink ones that were also tinged with vulnerability) back under her helmet and marched away to wait tables like a good soldier.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

The tenth day of March. A Wednesday. Spring break was on the horizon, looming. Audrey stared forlornly at the calendar that hung lopsided on Jack's otherwise bare walls. Was it March already? How time had passed, how it had flown and swum before her eyes in a bittersweet whirlwind of activity. Yet, she still felt stagnant and unmoving: caught in the monotony of repetition and routine and bored. In her mind, she ticked off a list of things she felt she should have accomplished by the tenth of March. How much of that list had gone undone. What had she been doing that had distracted her so much from her big hopes? She worked so much to get nowhere. Absolutely nowhere.

"There you go again. Just staring into space whenever I try to talk to you." Jack's voice broke through her daydream of self loathing. She took a quick sideways glance at him and then turned her eyes away once more. Her gaze fell upon the crack in the wall just above where the calendar hung. It started from the ceiling line, and Audrey could swear that in the time she had been with Jack, it had crept its way down the wall an inch more. How many times had she sat there staring in its direction in order to notice the growth? How many times had she been in the exact same place? The rustle of paper could be heard as he quickly flipped through a few pages of a textbook and then thumped it shut. "What the hell are you lookin' at anyway?"

A meager shrug of the shoulders was her response. It was like a dance routine. They'd be getting along swimmingly, then something would happen – the rest of the steps (the bobs, sways, and turns) would proceed like clockwork. Jack would get irritated, Audrey would turn away and gaze off into the distance. He'd ask her what was wrong or something of the nature, and she'd shrug. The same thing every single time. _March 10th._ It was spring, and still not a single shower in the city. It was rain season back home in England. Audrey shut her eyes. She could smell the wetness of the shrubs and pavement. The coursing, endless droves of rain and fog. The dampness that hung heavy in the air and wet the skin upon contact.

"What s'matter with you? You tired? If you'd get some damn sleep at night instead of stayin' up doin' whatever the hell it is you do, then maybe you wouldn't be so tired all the time."

_Sleep. No, that she didn't do. She'd lie awake next to his sleeping form and think. _

_Try to piece together her world in her mind so that it made sense. So that it could be something other than work, school, Jack, and losing ground. But it never did. When she'd finally drift off to a shallow slumber, she'd have fragmented dreams of home and her mother. She dreamt of her mother more now than ever before without knowing exactly why. Her insomniac's dreams of rain, damp cool air, and the warmth of her distant family offered no comfort. Audrey would jolt back awake at the sound of a car alarm and stare into the dense darkness of four o'clock in the morning to find herself in the same dry, cold apartment that smelled of stale smoke. _

The exact burnt tang of smoke from her memory now sharply filled her nostrils. She sucked it in wearily and out of the corner of her eye, Audrey saw Jack shaking the match he'd used to light the cigarette hanging intently clenched between his lips. She didn't dare let her eyes cross the expanse of the room to meet his…she was certain they were full of annoyance and anger. "Come on," he mumbled through his teeth. "What the hell is wrong with you? I don't have all day and I'm not too great at figuring this kind of shit out anyway. Just tell me so I can start feelin' bad now and get the entire show over with."

A deep tension laden silence enveloped the room. Audrey opened and closed her mouth several times – each time starting to pour out her heart to him, but catching and stopping herself from doing so. For a while, she said nothing, but her mind screamed through her eyes the truth, the entire truth, that she tried so hard to hide: "_The problem is that we fight. But not the fight itself. It's everything else. We fight, and then there's just this placidness after where we both accept that it's time for the fighting to end and we fall back into our routine. Nothing gets said, nothing gets done, and nothing changes. There is no moving forward. There's nothing but a dull compromise to not outwardly hurt each other and I can't stand it. Because there's nothing there to ransom me back to you. No tell tale sign than we're anything more than the stupid repetitive dance we've made ourselves out to be. A sure thing for Friday night. Someone to have dinner with that won't stand you up. A constant stream of get mad and get over it that never ends with 'get happy' and it drives me out of my mind. I can't live my life in the mundane and the never-ending stream of settling back into comfortable routine. I've got to have a reason to stay! A reason to want to be with you. Something that tells me without a doubt that I'm "it" for you, and you'll love me forever. You give me no reason to believe this. You give me no reason to throw caution and comfort to the wind and attach myself to your side. You just give me what's safe for you. You give me the logic according to Jack and never think for once that your logic might be ill suited for anyone who's not you. _

_Oh Jack. I can't stand it. I spend hours here, but I never get my fill of you. I never have enough of you. I don't know whether that is because you deny me it or I deny myself, but I come here laden with expectations and they simply plummet downhill as the day progresses. I'm sick of this place. Sick of being here confined and lying next to you and wanting everything so badly. There's no relief from it lately. There's no hour break where I feel as though everything isn't resting heavily upon me. I rely on you so much to be that escape for me. To make it all just go away, but you won't. It's not that you can't. Just that you won't. Sometimes, late at night after you've gone to sleep, I lie awake and think about nothing but just going home. But I can't because I've got too much self control and I know that it's not safe for a girl to be walking the streets at two in the morning without her wits about her." _But, instead of opening her mouth and letting it all flow forth, she hesitantly combated with, "The vision in my head and reality don't match up all the time." It was the truth, if only a condensed, skewed summary of it. After letting it fall off of her lips, she cringed and bit her tongue, knowing how hurtful it must have come off.

Jack did not immediately respond. He forcefully stubbed out his first cigarette butt in his empty coffee mug and lit another. Audrey finally gathered the courage to swing her stare up and leftward to examine his expression. His eyes were downcast and narrowed – the floor was his focus as he sucked angrily on the end of his cigarette and shot the remains out through his nostrils. Not bothering to look up from the floor, he responded, "Is that it? Is that why you're so numb all the time?" Audrey's breath caught in the back of her throat when he looked up to glare into her eyes as he continued, raising his voice in what seemed to be disbelief, "You think I don't notice? You mope around here with a blank look on your face like you're on crack. I thought it was school and I thought it was work, but apparently it's because you're not satisfied with anything. "What do you want Audrey? Someone to love you? I'm giving you that but you won't accept it. It's never good enough. What do you want?"

True to form, she looked away and fiddled with the end of her shoelace. Jack didn't understand. She should have expected it, but somehow she didn't. No, Jack didn't understand this time, and he'd never understand. She felt hurt that he twisted her words into something bad and made himself the victim. She felt hurt that he'd taken all of her hopes and dreams and dashed them once again. It was hard for her to keep her voice steady as she said, "Something. I want something out of you. And God damn it! I can't put it into words because I don't know exactly what it is. But I do know that I'm not getting it!"

"Then why don't you look somewhere else?" Jack ran a hand through his hair and stomped around the room in a frustrated circle. "I can't take it anymore, Audrey. I know that was a bad thing to say, but I don't' know what to do. If you're not happy with me, then what else can I say?"

"I don't know. Besides, if I told you what to say, what good would that do?"

"You're impossible. I'm going to bed."

"At eight o'clock?"

"Yes." He kicked one shoe off and then another. On his march into the bedroom, he slipped his white t-shirt off over his head and tossed it against the wall. Fiddling with the button on his jeans, he called out from the next room, "I never get any sleep anymore because of you. If I don't stay up late with you, you're not happy. When you're not happy, I don't get any sleep either. I'm too busying being awake and fighting with you into the night. So, goodnight Audrey. Do whatever the hell you want, but I'm fucking tired and I'm going to sleep." And with that, he laid down in bed and pulled the sheets up over his head in frustration.

_Two hours later._

Jack tossed. Jack turned. Jack became thoroughly disgusted. He pulled the sheet up over his head, but it didn't do a bit of good in blocking the light that was glaring its ugly yellow tone into his eyes. He shot up in bed, sitting up among his angled mess of covers to glare at her across the room. "Will you…." he growled, "Turn off that fucking light?"

"I need it," was the calm, even toned answer.

"For what?" he spat out between clenched teeth.

"I'm working."

"Like hell you are! I just watched you sit on your ass for hours and watch some stupid marathon on TV and stare at a wall. You only wanna work now because you know it will piss me off. You just want to piss me off because you're not getting your way. If you can't be happy, then nobody can."

She sighed and continued on as though she were reasoning with a small child. "That's not it. It's still early, Jack. I've got a lot to do. I can't just stop my life because you wanted to go to bed early."

"But you can go home."

Audrey glared at him. Her upper lip curled in resentment, but she did not budge or make one move to kill the light. Therefore, Jack flung back the sheets and crossly got out of bed. With a frustrated scowl in Audrey's direction, he promptly turned off the lamp and returned to the warmth of his bed. She sat in the dark for a full five minutes, silently seething, before closing the book in her lap with a harsh snap of her wrist, and beginning to pick up and pack up her belongings. Jack didn't notice or care. He was fast asleep.

She didn't like wandering about the city past dark. So many things about it were unsettling. So many things about it scared her for unknown reasons. Though it intimidated her, her pride made her stubbornly set out into it just the same. By the time she reached home, it was still early. There was plenty of time to accomplish some of the things that had been pilling up on her "to do" list. Audrey took off of her coat and kicked off her shoes. She strode into the kitchen and retrieved a golden red apple. Sinking her teeth into it and holding it between them, she set up her easel and paints and then sat in her chair in front of the barely started, but full of potential, painting. Nothing came. Not discouraged and not wanting to waste the night, she decided to try to retain momentum by starting another project. She plucked a piece of paper out of her sketchbook, grabbed a pen, and sat down to respond to Kit's month old letter that she'd never seemed to have time to reply to. This, Audrey thought, would be easy because talking to Kit was so easy and so natural. To him, the words always flowed like her heart pouring out all of its contents in a steady stream. But nothing came. Nothing was coming. Still nothing coming.

But, the red light on the answering machine was flashing. The message would not be for her, she knew, but on a whim, she pressed the button and absently listened as she went into the kitchen to grab something to drink. "Hey," a warm voice said. It traveled through the speaker and the chilly air, pricking Audrey's ears and causing her to stop what she was doing and turn around to listen with interest. "So, listen, Audrey, I know this is last minute and all, but if you don't have plans tonight, would you maybe wanna take a break from your busy painting schedule and come out to play? A friend of mine has this show and the opening's tonight. I know photo isn't your thing, but his stuff is really amazing and you might like it. You don't need to call or anything. Just show up if you want to – Oculus Gallery on Third, starts at nine. It'd make my night if you'd come."

_It would make Ryan Donmoor's night if she came._

She looked at the clock. Its red glowing numbers told her that there was still time…if she hurried. She said a prayer of thanks that she'd had the fortune to have washed her hair before heading to Jack's. One less bloody thing to do. She donned her best cut-just-so black skirt and borrowed a pair of heeled boots and a turquoise (instead of her usual red) off-the-shoulder blouse from Ray's closet…one of the less low cut ones. Her flat mate's absence was finally paying off, it seemed. Grabbing a coat and her bag, she hurried out the door and down the stairs. She tried to walk the few blocks to the subway, but the heels proved too much for her flat feet. Therefore, she uncharacteristically hailed a cab with her food money for the next two days.

She got out and paid the cabbie, the thick, seductive, singeing fragrance of exotic cigarette smoke from bohemian sophisticates gathered outside in front of the gallery filling her nostrils. (So different from the cheap typicals that Jack sucked down like water.) She hadn't had a cigarette in days. She couldn't afford them. Something else had been more persuasive and more…pressing. His face lit up when he turned and saw her. With his eyes upon her, she felt instantly nervous and self consciously smoothed her skirt's wrinkles. He smiled at her across the crowded room and made his way to her side. "You came," he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek in greeting. Audrey felt her skin flush and burn in the wake of his lips. "I did," she answered. He told her that she should meet his friend and led her to where he stood. En route, they took a detoured to a table in the corner where he grabbed a glass of wine and handed it to her. The rest of the night went smoothly. She did, indeed, meet the famed friend of Ryan, Jeremy - whom she found warm, intelligent, witty, and completely down to earth.

After two hours of meandering around the room, Ryan pointing out works to her and telling her stories about them, they left the gallery. They went to a bar around the corner. Ryan knew the bartender and easily acquired drinks on the house. They drank, they laughed, they talked. Not a dull or quiet moment passed between the two. Audrey was having the best time she'd had in ages. Words trailed from her lips like ribbons, like good wet paint flowing onto a new canvas. Yet, there was still a mass of knots in her stomach that even the liquor could not untie. He sat across from her at the bar. He told her jokes and she laughed. He leaned on his hand and looked at her as though she were the only person in the room. She fondled her drink's glass as though it were more captivating to her than it was in truth. He sniffled, quite the way Jack was accustomed to doing, Audrey noted for a fleeting second as a nostalgic longing embraced her…and then the thought Jack fleeted from her mind. Ryan produced a pen from his pocket and scrawled words on flier, he plucked up off of the bar. "I've been working on something," he told her, pen looping across the paper as he spoke. "I hadn't figured out quite how to end it. I think I just found a way." He finished writing and then folded the paper up to slide it across to her. "Take a look at it sometime," he said, and she nodded that she would and then slipped the paper into her bag.

They stayed until the bar closed at two, and then Ryan invited her back to his apartment. "I'm not tired at all. It's stupid to have to say goodbye just because the joint's closing. Why don't you come by my place? I'm starved – I'll make you a sandwich and a cup of coffee and I can show you a few other photographs that I snatched off of Jer in his 'early period.' You should see 'em." And she agreed.

He was whispering to her now – pretty words to accentuate the handsomeness of his contours. Standing just inside his doorway, his perfectly drawn mouth framing phrases that said all the right things in a way that was pleasantly simple. _"The first thing that caught my attention was your name. That's all I had at the beginning – a name during roll call and a face half hidden behind a canvas. But I was immediately interested. I'm in art…all artist have a thing with the past, I think. Your name carried such weight. I looked across the room and there you were – all dark haired and wide eyed. Just like Audrey Hepburn in those dramatic old photographs. Your mother did right by naming you what she did – you and Audrey Hepburn share a name and an unforgettable face."_ Nothing about his flattery seemed trite or contrived. Nothing about it made her laugh at its pretense. She was only saddened that her answer could not have been as perfectly delivered.

"But it's too bad I wasn't named after her – only a dead relative that I never knew. If I would have had the fortune to be named after her, perhaps I would have inherited a little of her grace. A little of her effortless presence and knack for never once coming undone. But everything only comes to ruin with me. I never carry through." She rolled her eyes in her usual fashion, and as she did, his hand came up swiftly to delicately swipe her hair out of her eyes. As he did, his finger graced across her face, his skin against hers, and she flushed at his touch, recoiling a bit at his touch. She reminded herself to calm down and act like a normal human instead of some skittish rabbit, and then inhaled deeply.

He chuckled softly and lifted his own eyebrows. "How do you see with all that hair in your eyes?" he asked her, teasingly. Audrey almost imperceptibly shrugged her shoulders, and Ryan leaned in closer. She could smell the deep, spiced scent of him – something foreign and exciting…something besides smoke, leather, soap, and Listerine. "You do follow through with lots of things," he said softly, words becoming ever more breathy by the second. "You're here. You followed through with that." Her heart sped up – her pulse racing at the thought of being centimeters from Ryan's inviting warmth. At the thought of being inside his apartment. At the thought of what she was pretty certain would be following soon. She had come there out of her own free will, and the entire night, was entirely intoxicated by the idea of being in his presence, of feeling his hand graze against her own, and of kissing him. But now that she had actually come within such close proximity to his lips upon hers, she began to feel a sick knot twisting upon itself in her stomach. She had come there wanting so much from him. She had come there willing to go as far as to let him lay her down in his bed and have his way with her.

"Strange," she thought, "Now that I'm actually here, I don't have the slightest desire to fuck." She cleared her throat and opened her eyes, as if jolting out of a dream. She looked at Ryan's handsome, rugged features, but it was Jack's face that she saw before her eyes. "I, um…have to go," she said without bothering to offer an apology. "I have to go." She brushed past him, bumping him out of the way of her path to the door. Audrey then opened the door and started a brisk walk down the hall. When she reached the stairwell, she tore down the steps as though her life depended on her speed.

vvvvvvvvvvv

Another Friday evening at The Great Wall. Audrey was mostly silent, and Jack was mostly kicking himself. David had left three messages on his machine about poker night at Race's house. Jack hadn't returned any of his calls, because he didn't want to hear the mocking disappointment in David's voice when he said, "Well, if that's what you want to do, man…" after Jack had told him that he had an unspoken agreement to have dinner with his girlfriend that night. Just like most other Fridays, Jack ate his rice noodles and pork as he watched Audrey stare into space and waited until she finally let whatever was on her mind come out of her mouth in some flat statement that always managed to sound critical. (Regardless of what it actually was.) Because, just as she had earlier claimed, they never made up for their previous fight. And, as she had probably noted, Jack thought, it was the worst one yet. No, there was no making up…there was even no outward sign that they had fought. He didn't mention it and accordingly, she said nothing. They both just sat together in their favourite Chinese restaurant and quietly ate the usual. But even if neither one of them spoke about it or acknowledged its existence, the tension between them was palpable. They both knew what had happened and, they both probably recognized the ever growing rift between them.

Jack played it off because he had no case. In his mind, there was no obvious solution. Until he came up with one, he decided it best to keep his trap shut. It was safer that way. He thought if he smoothed everything over, kept everything calm and placid, and didn't let anything stupid slip out of his mouth, they could just forget about their hard feelings and continue loving each other as they used do.

_If she had even loved him to begin with._

No. Jack could play it off. It was nothing. Just another lover's squabble. Hadn't they reached the point in their relationship where bickering became inevitable and all the more present? He benignly lifted his chopsticks to his mouth and the lowered them to his plate once more. He would be pleasant, cordial, and utterly generous in his attitude toward her. She would find no fault with him that night. No. That night was the first in of many in a line to come of nights that progressed without conflict. It was the beginning of a whole new chapter for them. The worst was behind them – they simply had had to get it out of their systems.

Audrey, on the other hand, had never felt so dead and so blatantly restless at the same time. There they were in their usual restaurant, not speaking, and pushing their usual orders around on their plates. Were they the dining dead, just like all those other couples who had gotten "used" to each other? Quite possibly. Her insides wanted to scream for Jack to speak to her and say something. She wasn't sure what she wanted him to say, but she was certain that anything that would have come out of his mouth would have been wrong to her ears. She looked at him. The mere sight of him sitting across from her, chewing on his food with that goofy half grin plastered across his face. Audrey immediately felt disgusted by him and tensed up at bit as she clenched her fingers around her fork (chopsticks being a skill she never learned) and looked away again.

Jack looked up from his plate. He wanted to correct her and say that she should try the chopsticks and simply eat the snow peas instead of jabbing at them violently with her fork. But he looked away instead, again, deciding it best to not start anything that could cause a conflict. He didn't have the stomach or the patience to watch the disgusted look come over her face and to see her roll her eyes in disdain. Silently, he fumbled around for some benign statement that could melt the ice thickening between them. "So, is Ray still upset?" he asked, instead, shaking a dull brown piece of hair that had worked its way forward out of his eyes. His hair had gotten too long for his liking. When was the last time he'd gotten a haircut? He couldn't remember. It seemed he couldn't remember much outside of the bubble he'd created for himself and Audrey. Nothing felt like it had any significance otherwise. At that moment, all he wanted to do was reach out his hand and brush her knuckles with his forefinger. And he would have, had he not felt like doing so would be totally wrong. Had he not gotten the strong sense that she wouldn't want him to - that she'd cringe at his touch. They were six months into their relationship and yet Jack still felt like he were playing a neverending game that he didn't know the rules too. And it simply wasn't fair. All of it was backwards. At the beginning of the Jack/Audrey cooperative, he felt so sure…so certain that they were falling into place and that everything between them would work out perfectly. Suddenly, it was like everything has changed mid-game – he went from being right about everything to being wrong about anything related to his girlfriend. He remembered when he used to make her laugh, when just being together, lying in his bed and rambling on about nothing for hours would have been perfectly fine. Now, every move he made offended her in some way. Jack would do or say something, and then wait in fear of a disgusted curl of Audrey's lip that he thought was sure to follow.

"No. She's fine," Audrey responded, aloofly putting another bite into her mouth. "She and Spot are back together." Her eyes remained on a red dragon banner that hung on the opposite wall. A banner that seemed to be infinitely more interesting than Jack.

"Oh, I didn't know."

"Yeah. They are. She said it was all a big misunderstanding and that she overreacted. I told her that just running back into his arms so soon probably wasn't the best thing to do. But, as usual, she didn't see it fit to heed anything I said. Ha. Ha ha ha ha." The irony of her laugh and the trademark roll of the eyes seemed to fit not only Ray and Spot's situation, but their own, Jack noted.

"I would have thought that you'd be happier for her. Aren't friends supposed to be happy for each other when things are good and support each other when things are shitty? I mean, breakin' up with your boyfriend isn't exactly reason for your friend to celebrate. That's basically what you were doin'."

The semi-light expression that had come over her face when she was lamenting about Raven faded quickly at Jack's comment. Her eyes became steely and her mouth thinned into a set line. "I was not."

_And here we go again,_ Jack though. He lightly tapped his chopsticks on the side of his plate and finished chewing the food in his mouth. There were two things that one could do in this situation. Take it placidly and try to change the subject, or stand up for one's self for once…like a man instead of a pussified wimp. Jack had become sick of choosing the first. After all, where had it ever gotten him? Where was this rampant denial getting him? Further into a hole. He cleared his throat before hardening his own expression and shaking his head. He knew it wouldn't please her in the slightest, but he aimed for directness and truth. His retort was simply, "Oh, don't pull that shit with me, A. You were happy again because you had her all to yourself. I was there. I saw it all over your face." Well, that was it. Just like that, he was back on the defensive. But instead of letting her back him into a corner and subsequently surrender, he instead stood firm with his verbal fist up and ready to strike.

Audrey took a purposefully slow sip from her glass. Setting it back down on the table, she clenched her jaw and said, "I was just happy to see her. What was wrong with that?"

"Nothin'. You should be happy to see her so happy. Hell, I wish you were ever that happy to see me. But then, maybe that's askin' for to much. Maybe we should break up. Maybe then you'd celebrate and then, I don't know, miss me or somethin'."

"Not here, Jack," Audrey returned with a weary tone to her voice.

But it was too late to dissuade him. Jack had mustered the nerve to finally stand up to her, and he wasn't about to stop once he'd gained momentum. "Oh yeah? Well, where then? When? It's never a good time for you. You're either busy or asleep all the time. And when you're not one of those, you're pissed at me and we aren't speaking. God, you just make everything so hard Audrey. You're so distant and just dead all the time, and when you are happy, I feel like I'm walkin' on eggshells around you. Just one false move and then -" He snapped his fingers and whistled sharply. "It's all gone to hell. You put on that blank face and stare at the wall like I tried to kill ya or something. Everything's all on me. It's always on me. You don't know what you want to eat, what you want to do, where you want us to go in this relationship. And when I ask, you just tell me you don't know and push me aside like I asked you something wrong. Like being with me is just a hassle. Something you're forced to do to save my feelings."

Audrey didn't say anything. She offered him only silence and another blank stare at something off in the distance that was obviously more interesting than him. Then, she offhandedly said, "Is it hot in here?" as though nothing had ever happened.

And then she does everything that he said she does, Jack thought. "No," he answered in monotone, and then laughed ironically under his breath and bit his bottom lip hard. _And now, Audrey, _he said silently to himself, _you're going to say something about the weather and act like it's some sort of excuse for your absentee behaviour. Like it reminds you of home and you can't take that. Your fabricated, beautiful image of Brighton. I bet you didn't think it was that perfect when you actually lived there. It only became pretty when it offered you a way to not think about me. _He shook his head, not believing that it was happening again. And for what? What did he do? Nothing. He couldn't believe it was happening again. Something inside of him snapped and a hot, bloody rage pulsed through his body. Hadn't he given into her enough? Hadn't he given up enough, for that matter? _Hadn't he given up Santa Fe_? He'd reached his limit, and unlike usual, he wasn't going to sit there and passively wait out her malicious silences until she felt like gracing him by speaking again. He simply wasn't going to do it this time. What would she do about it? He didn't know, but he assumed it was probably nothing. That's what she always did about everything – absolutely nothing. Just stuck her bottom lip out in a discontented little frown and waited until she thought she could get her way again. Then she'd continue on like nothing had ever happened. Before Jack knew quite what he was doing – before he formulated a plan, he was pushing his chair away from the table and standing. He reached into his wallet, threw a few bills onto the table, and strode torridly for the door. Within seconds, his hand were shoved in his pocket, and his mouth was sending puffs of angry, hot breath into the cold March air as his feet pounded the sidewalk at a ground eating pace.

And Audrey, placid and disconnected as ever, stayed seated in her chair. She sighed, rolled her eyes and put down her fork. She looked at the door Jack had left through and then looked down at her plate. _Well, I'm not going to give him the benefit of indulging his little temper tantrum_, she thought and curled her top lip slightly. Without registering any other emotion, she picked up her pair of chopsticks and drove them downward, forcefully stabbing a piece of chicken.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvv

_Between darkness and wonder_ –Once, in a poetic stage of her young life, Audrey thought if she could live in between those two things, she'd have achieved the perfect balance of edginess and beauty to make up a model artistically modern life. Just like the cultured bohemian anti-aristocrats – living constantly on the verge of both depression and childlike enlightenment. She'd managed semi-successfully for a little while…yet, these days she was drifting more toward darkness. From the nearer, darker side, she could see that what she had achieved before was not a balance between the two – but mere mediocrity and indecisiveness on her part by the way she played it.

She'd gone directly home from the Chinese restaurant, walked a straight line from the door of 3F to her bedroom, and upon entering, sat on her rug and leaned back against her bed. She didn't bother to turn on the lights. The darkness was better, more comforting and besides, her eyes were burning. She took a deep breath, one that sounded more like a deep sigh, and hugged her knees up to her chest.

She felt an overwhelming sense of desperation. Her bedroom seemed more like an engulfing expanse of cold darkness than the close, homey confines she'd created. Everything was too far and too hard. She glanced around quickly for something to filter the pure white shot of adrenaline into her brain that would make everything easier. Canvas? No, it would get caught in the fibers. Tissue? A piece of a skirt? Nothing substantial. She finally grunted and pulled a page out of her EE Cummings book of poems. She rolled it into the perfectly tight cylinder she was accustomed to. She could still see part of a poem on the edge of the roll that she fingered. Strange how it was now only bits of words that didn't make sense instead of something beautiful.

She kicked off of her shoes. They made two deep, resounding clunks as their thick soles hit the wooden floor. Audrey reached blindly backwards, groping between her mattress and boxspring for her stash. She found it, drew it out, and examined its contents. If she measured correctly, she had enough for three more go rounds. But that night was a particularly trying night, so skimping would do no good. She decided that she definitely would need a big, fat dose of delirium to help her through it. She stood, rising from the ashes of yet another evening gone wrong, and plodded toward the bathroom. With a plexiglass palette and her Xacto knife in hand, she started on an anti-heroic quest for transformation into a phoenix.

Audrey didn't bother to turn the bathroom light on. She let the neon glow pulsing in through her window weakly illuminate the room. She could see, not clearly – but then, why would she want to? She balanced the plexiglass on the sink and shook out a pile of white dust. The bag she rested beside the pile and proceeded to spread and divide the cocaine into thin, even, grid-like lines. Staring at her own personal metaphorical still life in front of her, she gained a new perspective. One could vary between one extreme or the other, according to circumstances and mood, and that was okay. But there probably existed no satisfying room to dwell in between. Which would she choose?

_Bag of dust…chalk of life._ In that little bag was everything she didn't like about herself and everything that made her like herself. It was a strange contradiction, but it worked, so she did not question it further. Despite its unfailing consistency, its potency was decreasing as she became more comfortable with it. Thusly, she liked herself less. However, there existed something more powerful than any addiction: It was fear and Audrey had it in multitudes. She thought back to the other night, the fear that made her heart leap whenever Ryan came within a six inch proximity of her – the way her chest clenched and her heart raced. The way she called it exhilaration and labeled it a good thing. Now, she felt it even more. The same racing of heart, tightness of chest, and shaky feeling – though she knew this time it had nothing to do with Ryan and all of his persuasiveness. It was simply the fear of losing. Of losing Jack …yet another loss. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror – it was disheveled and hollow-eyed as ever. Such disarray contrasted with such orderly little straight white lines made by her own hand.

It took one wild, yet purposeful swat of her arm to rid her of her stash and coat the bathroom in a faint white dusting.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Audrey sat on the windowsill, languidly examining the ends of her hair for split ends in glow of the flashing orange and red sign lights. It had been an hour since her fear broke her addiction, and though she was steady and stable, she still couldn't pull herself together enough to work. She still felt the need to consume something to make herself feel better and the conflict with Jack was still not resolved. She couldn't stand the fact that he'd walked out on her, and moreso couldn't stand that she had no idea where he was at that very moment. By now, they would have made up…or something resembling making up. By now, they'd be eating pints of ice cream and mindlessly watching a late movie on television. By now, they'd be having sex and then drifting off to sleep in the comfort of each other's arms. But, in reality, by now, she was only worried about him and beautifying their relationship in her mind as she played with her hair and every minute or so, glanced up to search for the familiar outline of his body on the street below.

She heard a creak and jumped. Was it just the sound of the old structure settling….the old walls sinking deeper into themselves? Or was it….She hesitantly leaned her head back just enough to align her sight with the straight shot of her bedroom door through the living room. The front door was ajar ever so slightly. She watched with baited breath as it opened wider and a tall, hunched figure stepped through. Audrey should have been frightened, but she was not. She stood, and slowly tiptoed over to her doorway. She rested her hand on the casing and peered out from behind it. Quietly, but bluntly, she asked, "Where have you been?"

"Out," came the answer.

Her first instinct was to retort something like, "Well, I can bloody see that smart ass." But, she bit her tongue and nodded her head. She moved through the darkness, drawing nearer to her counterpart. "Is it cold outside?" she asked.

"Not really. Not any colder than usual, I guess."

"Why didn't you knock before you came in?"

"I don't know. I guess I just tried the knob first and when it turned, there was no use for knockin', was there?" He didn't bother to take his coat off. He didn't bother to budge from the spot in which he was standing. His movements were few, and Audrey noticed, his words a bit slurred. She stood at least nine feet away, but the smell of too many cigarettes and alcohol radiated off of him. Jack yawned. He shrugged his shoulders in an attempt to shed his coat. But its removal didn't go as smoothly as planned: the right arm was coming off easily enough, but the left arm got caught. He shook it, but yet it still clung to him like a rumpled second skin. He stretched out his right arm in frustration, but that only left him with his arms bent back behind him, his jacket stretched between them, like a poor excuse for a cape. A few more shakes and tugs freed him of it, and he slung it down at his feet and grunted. He took one step and then immediate tripped over the rumpled leather jacket he had just thrown to the ground. A muttered curse under his breath soon followed.

But Jack's jester-like antics were enough to temporarily break the icy tension. A tender expression spread over Audrey's face. She tilted her head to the left, let the right corner of her mouth lift upward in the promise of a smile, and then giggled softly. "To think," she said in a breathy, relieved voice, "that I once thought you a great, strong man and nearly tripped all over myself whenever I was near you. You're just a clumsy boy. But you play it off well at times. Now not being one of them, of course."

"And I thought you were a goddess. Guess we were both wrong," was his answer.

On any other day, at any other time, Audrey would have taken his nonchalant comment as an insult. But that night, she accepted it as something beyond the offensive face value. The bemused expression fell from her face, and what replaced it was hurt, and regret. A soft, sadness filled her dark eyes, and her lips parted. She took a deep breath, and allowed her eyes to fill with tears…but she didn't look away. She couldn't. Instead, she kept her eyes riveted on his face. "Oh, Jack," she whispered. She took one hesitant step forward, her right hand over her heart as if it pained her. "I'm so sorry." She wanted to find her way back to him, back to that happy place that no one could touch, and she was determined to find it – one step at a time, one foot in front of the other. She tread the uncertain path across the room and with a sob, flung herself into his arms. He caught her, intertwining one arm around her waist and one arm behind her head as their lips met. And finally, there was electricity and flames that burned like wildfire, even if it was tinged with sorrow. She let herself be consumed with him, finally giving herself up to the possibility that everything could be worked out between them. She kissed him like there was no tomorrow, and breathed in his breath as though it were her life force. Yet, as she turned her head to rest in the curve of his neck and inhale his familiar scent on more, she smelled something different. Among the strong aromas of alcohol, cigarettes, and leather was a fainter, more delicate fragrance. Her body went cold. Her pulse race and her mouth went dry. She turned suddenly and wrenched herself out of his grasp. Pushing him away from her, she held her hands out in self protection and backpedaled, her gaze focused on the floor. Almost inaudibly, she mumbled, "Another girl. "

He cleared his throat and shifted his feet uncomfortably. "Yeah," was his response.

Biting her lip, she asked, "How far did it go?" When he did not answer, she laughed ironically, "That far, huh?" She paused. Another girl," she said again, this time with more volume and more disbelief in her voice. "Another girl….how could you, Jack? How could you?" When he didn't answer, she continued, unleashing a river of questions. "Why did you tell me? Why couldn't you just make something up? Some excuse? Why didn't you deny it? For my sake, why didn't you deny it?" He shrugged. "It would have been the merciful thing to do," she said. "Lying to me would have been kind."

"I ain't gonna lie to ya, Audrey, if that's what you wanted. I wasn't going to tell you right off. I had this entire story planned out while I was walking over here. But then I walked in and saw you…and I couldn't. I couldn't even remember what the story was. I'm an honest person, Audrey. Always have been. That's just the way I am. I can't go tellin' a bunch of lies just to cover my ass. I can't lie, especially not to you."

For a long, tense slice of forever, she did not answer. She stared at the floor, her arms crossed over her chest. She was busy, collecting herself…piecing together enough composure and enough voice to finally utter one word: "Why?" But even though she gave him that, she did not give Jack the privilege of looking at him.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I guess….I guess I felt wanted for once. With you, I never know whether you like me or you hate lookin' at my ugly mug all the time. I felt good about myself for once, and I just gave in. I know it was wrong….God, I know that Audrey….and I know I fucked everything up, but I couldn't stop. There was nothin' I could do about it."

"No. Don't you tell me that," Audrey demanded. She summoned all of her courage into a flaming red rage and sharply pointed a finger at his face and shook it. "Don't you give me that pansy line about nothing you could do. How . . .? How does it work? How can you do this to someone? There is a decisive moment in which you decide to either give into the temptation or say no, and resist it. You had a decisive moment and you chose to betray me….." Her voice broke as rage melted into sadness and indignation transformed into tears. She sucked in air and let her mouth become a dripping fountain spout – her words poured out, but in broken spurts. "_I fell into lust…there was nothing I could do_," she mocked sarcastically and shook her head, "…as if you had no choice. There's a moment, there's always a moment where you think _I can do this, I can give in to this or I can resist it_ . . . You didn't fall in lust….you gave into temptation. And you slapped some label of _feeling wanted_ on it…as if that made it acceptable." She stopped speaking and covered her face, her shoulder slumped in shame as she cried into her hands.

Jack could not hold back. He bridged the distance between them with three quick steps and wrapped his arms around her tightly. He expected to be shoved away violently, but was instead surprised when she allowed him to hold her. She turned and buried her face in his white t-shirt, dampening it with her tears. Taking an enormous chance, he cupped his hand under her chin and turned her tear stained face up to meet his own. "No!" she exclaimed, backing away and thrusting her index finger up again in protest. "No, I'm supposed to kick you out on your ass and I'm standing here kissing you. You're not supposed to win. You betrayed me!"

"Oh, Audrey," Jack said, his voice soft and apologetic as he pressed his lips against hers once more. But again she retreated, wiping at her mouth as though the kiss only injured her more.

"Get out Jack!" she cried through her sobs. "Get out!" And he obeyed. He scooped his jacket up off the floor and slung it over his shoulder. Audrey stood frozen, watching as he turned toward the door and disappeared through it. She head the thump thump, thump thump rhythm of his shoes on the stairs until the sound dissipated into nothingness. Then, she tore through the room, desperate to reach the safety of her bedroom. She flung herself onto the bed and cried until her eyes ran dry and her chest hurt.

For an hour after, every noise, slight, subtle, or otherwise, was the first strains of Jack's footsteps in her hall as he returned to throw himself into her arms, full of apologies and so much remorseful passion that it overwhelmed the both of them. Every creak was him coming back to her. Every car door slam outside. Every thump and bump and neighbor's children crying. Everything made Audrey start and apprehensively wait, without daring to breath lest she miss the familiar sound of his quick long stride. She watched her door. She watched her window. She watched the clock. There was a chain of patters that sounded like footsteps and she was almost sure that he had returned. The patters grew heavier, harder, and Audrey waited and waited, until she happened to glance out of her window. To her surprised disappointment, her string of hopeful noise had only been the rain. "How ironic," she said out loud, with a snort of disdain. She lit up a cigarette and smoked it away, staring into space and hating herself for all that she was, but moreso for sitting in that chair and waiting for him.

She craved cocaine and how blissfully ignorant it made her. How relieving and numb. For a good long while, she cursed herself for ruining her supply like a damned idiot. She should have saved some for a rainy day, for the day had certainly become rainy. And she needed it. The clean cut, American boy who always had a stash to sell wasn't too far from her apartment. If she put on her coat, some boots, and grabbed her umbrella, she could make it there and back before she was too wet. Besides, the walk might do her some good. It would let her clear her mind and give her something to look forward too besides the far flung slight chance that Jack may realize the error of his ways and waltz back through her front door.

Before she could consider what she was doing and decide against it, she grabbed her coat, shoes, and keys and flew out the door. The rain had really begun to come down. The city was gray and wet. Audrey had hoped for the rain for so long, but as she walked out of the front door of her apartment building, the shower that engulfed her only felt cold and harsh. Everything around her looked dirty, as the water mixed with metropolitan dust to make muck of every shade of gray. She pulled her coat around her and tromped through puddles, pushing past the scores of hurrying people carrying umbrellas and newspapers over their heads. Audrey stopped under a hotel's awning to brush the wet clinging strands of hair out of her eyes and realized how absurd she was being, gallivanting though a storm. She only needed a little fix. Half of the money she'd hid in her boot would be better used as cab fare. And so, she stepped out from under the awning and moved to the edge of the curb, her hand raised above her head.

Cab after cab passed her by, splashing her with gutter water. She hunched over, arms clasped around her for warmth and shivering. Each time she stuck her arm out to vainly attempted to flag down a passing car and was ignored, she was left feeling more vulnerable and stupid. Just stupid…in every way. She had prayed for rain and been rewarded with her own private hell. Jack was lost to her, her work was falling apart, and there she was, out on a curb in a rainstorm in pursuit of cocaine like an idiot. She shook her head, disgusted with herself and looked toward the sky. The tears stung at her eyes once more. She couldn't go back inside that apartment…at least, not just yet. Therefore, she did the only thing she could do – she turned her collar up and faced the rain on her own.

When Audrey reached her destination, she did not bother with the elevator. She took the stairs, two of them at a time, trying her best not to slip and fall. Her canvas shoes were soaked through, their ankle uppers sticking to her and the shoelaces untied. She stepped on them as her wet rubber soles squeaked and squawked with every new step. When she reached Nicole's door, she pounded upon it. She doubted that the girl even heard her knock for the music was so loud. She had heard it the minute she had come into her hallway. Catchy little hooks and refrains of Stars, Of Montreal, or whatever shit she was into that week. Audrey waited. She sucked her breath through her stopped up nose and rubbed at it. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, batting away one stray tear. And then she knocked again, this time louder. The music ceased. Audrey could hear one bolt sliding and then another turning. Nicole opened her door wide enough to stick her head out. She raised her eyebrows in question at the pathetically wet and disheveled form of her friend.

Audrey stood shaking and hunched over, wet strands of hair clung to her face and arms crossed over her chest in a futile attempt to keep warm. Her clothes were rumpled and dirty, grime stuck to her legs and shoes. "Why is it…" Audrey began in an unsteady, broken voice. She was struggling hard to form solid words, to even breathe, as she shivered and shook violently. "That-that…it doesn't _rain_ in this hellhole for weeks….and weeks. But… whenever anything bad happens, it _pours_ just like we're in a bloody movie? It's all so trite and so fucking…." Her voice broke as she grasped for the word, the only word that she thought might have fit. "…Tragic."

Nicole did not say a word in response, but Audrey saw the distinct flicker of compassion flood her brown eyes. She did not make a big fuss, she did not try to extract an explanation out of her friend, and she did not show one sign of shock or criticism. Silently, she simply opened the door wider and backed aside, beckoning that Audrey come in. As she crossed the threshold, she wiped at her face with her wet sweatshirt sleeve and a small pent up whimper escaped the back of her throat. "Hi Nic," she whispered.

"Hi yourself," was Nicole's response as she shut the door with a creak and set all the bolts, locking them into her apartment as though it were a fortress. A safe haven.

_"After a while, it got so that even when I was with him it was not enough. He was always too far away. Even when we were having sex, even when he was as deep inside of me as a living person could be, he was still so far away. Nothing that I did…no change that I made in my way of thinking…or acting…or anything made any difference. I thought it was just me. .I didn't know that he was so….hurt." Audrey was rambling. She figured that it didn't matter what she said now. She had a willing listener, a sounding board, and she was draining all of the pent up emotions out of her. Holding them inside had only proved to be disastrous – the demons of her mind had led to her romantic downfall and now, she felt the need to perform an exorcism._

_Nicole was silent for the most part. She let Audrey lie across her bed, across her lap and lament her broken little heart out. Much like Audrey had a week before let Ray do the same. And to compensate in the same circular fashion, Nicole stroked her hair and did not ask her questions. "I'm waiting for you to say that I brought this all upon myself," she told Nicole. "Not in the critical, mean spirited way, but in the Nicole way…the way in which you say very honest things and I don't get the least bit offended."_

_"You might have," Nicole told her. "But that's not for me to decide. I don't know the half of it, and I won't prod you for the rest. You have enough guilt to convict a nation full of Ravens. That's a plateful. I don't think you need any more from me."_

_Audrey only nodded, and said, "Thank you."_


	13. constant and true

A/N: This chapter sucks. I mean, it sucks big time. But I've been working on it so long that I can't figure out how to fix it anymore. Therefore, what I'm asking of readers is constructive criticism. Lots of it. Please?

* * *

Chapter 13. constant and true.

Brrring.

Spot moaned. He'd been woken from a somewhat pleasant dream, though the term woken could only be used loosely. He still hovered somewhere between conscious and not, the noise of the telephone's ring sounding completely foreign to him. He grunted and turned over, pulled the covers back up to his chin and thought the whole thing a product of his dreaming.

_Brrring_, the phone chirped again, a bit too cheerfully for the time of day.

Spot, this time, took notice. Jarred from the pleasant lulls of sleep, he turned over, glanced at the red digital numbers of his beside clock, and swore. "Who the fuck could be calling me?" he mumbled drowsily. "Ray, get that!"

"It's not my house," she responded automatically, her voice greatly muffled by the pillow she'd spoken into.

"Fuck you," Spot returned, his quick tongue barely letting her finish her sentence.

"You'd like to. But I'm too tired to let you. Answer the damn phone."

Spot looked toward the phone again as it rang once more, impatiently. He rubbed his brow (mumbling curses all the while), cleared his throat, and picked up the receiver. "What?" he barked into it.

"Spot?" was the answer on the other end.

Spot knitted his brow, recognizing the voice instantly and not liking the edgy tone it had to it one bit. He licked his lips and propped himself up on an elbow. "Yeah?" he responded, hesitantly. "What's up Jacky boy?" He heard Ray moan gently and turn over.

She sat up in bed, yawned deeply, rubbed her eyes, and then looked at her boyfriend inquisitively. "What?" was her answer. "Why's Jack calling this fucking early? Does he have no concept of time?" But Spot held up his hand to cease her questions. His brow creased and his eyebrows became two hard lines shadowing his eyes as he listened intently. "Uh huh….yeah………yeah, well what can you do……uh huh….yeah….yeah….um, okay." He covered the receiver and gestured toward it with a nod of his head. To Raven, he said, "He, uh, wants to talk to you."

"What? Why?"

"He wants to ask you where you buy your shoes. Hell if I know why he wants to talk to you! Would you just take the damn phone?"

Ray groaned and moaned and eventually gave in and accepted the receiver. She had barely been able to utter the word "Hello" before Jack interrupted her. "Where is she?" he demanded. The sentence came out pained and raspy: just like somebody who'd had his heart broken and smoked too much to compensate. She sighed. She didn't really need to wonder her room mate could be. Frankly, there was probably only one guess. "Well, England, I suppose…" Her voice was casual.

Too much so for Jack, apparently.

"WHAT?" came the reply.

"Aaah! Don't yell. I mean, I don't know for sure, Jack. It's four o'clock in the morning and I'm not very good at guessing games this early. I haven't spoken to her in a few days. We had a little fight, and she got all pissy and self-righteous with me. So, I left and haven't seen or spoken to her in a week or so. I wouldn't be the first one to get the news that she was packing up for a holiday back home, but if I had to make an educated guess, I'd say that's where she was. The real question is why the hell is she there?" There was no answer on Jack's part. Only silence. She didn't know if he was still on the line. "Jack? Why'd she pick up and leave like that?"

"I don't know," he finally said in a low voice.

"Sure you don't," she responded. She heard him mutter a curse under his breath and then came a loud slam. His fist against some unfortunate surface? Then, another string of slurred profanity.

"Look, I gotta talk to you Ray. Not on the phone. In person. Somewhere. Anywhere."

"Well, I don't know Jack," she said. "I don't know if that would help you any."

"Come on Ray. Please. I gotta…I just gotta talk to someone who knows something and can give me some kind of answers. Please, Ray…just please…."

Ray sighed and inhaled while she rallied her next protest against it. Spot said up behind her. "Come on Ray-Ray," he said in a raspy, low voice that was tender, yet meant business and he brushed a lock of her long disheveled hair off of her shoulder before lightly kissing her freckled skin. "You don't know what these kinds of things do to him. He's probably been stuck in that dump of an apartment goin' out of his mind. Just do what he wants. Please. For me?"

She covered the receiver of the phone and turned to face him. "Spot, it's not gonna do any good. What am I gonna tell him, huh? The truth probably wouldn't be the most comforting thing."

"Come on Ray. Just talk to him. You don't know how bad it gets. You didn't see him go through the whole Sarah thing. This is going to turn out like the whole Sarah thing."

Spot knew Ray well enough to exert the slightest amount of effort to make her putty in his hands. Ray didn't know Sarah personally but she knew enough that even the mention of her name brought a bad taste in her mouth. Her jaw set and she grinded her teeth together. She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Okay," she relented. "Where do ya want me to meet you?" The two sorted out dates and times and Ray wrote down the plans sloppily on her arm. She was preparing to end the conversation so she could get back to sleep. She knew she only had a certain time frame before her body kicked into awake mode. Time was ticking. "Alright, well g'bye Ja- "

"Why would she just pick up and leave like that?"

Ray sighed heavily. Again. "That's just like something that she'd do," she explained matter-of-factly. "Leave without telling anyone so you can't stop her. So she can do exactly what she wants. I can't decide if she's just a control freak or if she likes to draw attention to herself by pulling stunts like that." She paused and clicked her tongue. "Don't worry, Jack," she told him her voice nonchalant…almost lighthearted. "You've got to take it all in stride. Don't think about it so much. I'm sure it all will pass because all she needs to do is….oh. Nevermind."

"What?"

"I don't think I should tell. I think that would breach some sort of friendship trust law or something. I get blamed for enough shit. I don't need a friendship code violation hanging over my head."

"Come on. Tell me, Ray. Tell me, it's vital."

But Ray's only response to his plea was, "Maybe some other time." Then there was a click as she climbed over Spot to put the phone back onto its cradle. She then nestled back into the bed, stretching out her legs and pulling the covers back up to her chin. She laid there for a moment and then rolled over. Finally, she sat up in bed and groaned.

"What's wrong?" mumbled Spot. He had been fortunate enough to fall back asleep.

"I can't go back to sleep now. I was awake too long and now my body had decided that it's fucking up for good now." She slammed her hand on her pillow forcefully. "Damn Audrey," she lamented. "Damn, damn, damn stupid girl for flying all the way over an ocean for no good reason and making such a fuss. It's always gotta be about Audrey, doesn't it?"

"I'm sure she feels the same way about you," Spot answered. His eyes were shut tight but Ray detected a hint of a smirk. "While you're up, doll, turn up the heat. It's freezing in here."

"Fuck you."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Audrey lumbered down the corridor from the plane into the airport in her native land. Her legs were cramped and her feet felt like lead; she rubbed her eyes, puffy from lack of sleep and withheld tears. It was morning here, where it would have been night where her bed was. She ran her hand through her hair in a vain attempt at straightening it and readjusted the strap on her carry on. Waiting for her at the baggage claim was her brother. He was the same as he'd always been– long and lean with short dark hair, a knowing smile, and a never failing sense of reliability. Once he spotted her, he was ready to launch his typical good humored, big brother barrage of words at her.

"Well, well, look who it is. Little Audrey's come home. Who'd have thought you'd come flying back to us. After all of those years and all of that talk about getting out, I thought for certain you'd flown the coop with no intentions of coming back." When she reached him, he casually slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him, grazing her cheek with a cordial kiss. She could smell his scent – woodsy, natural, and fresh. He smelled like him. She closed her eyes and felt like crying again, but he chattered on. "Not much changed, I don't think. The big city didn't enchant you with new fangled ideas – piercings or tattoos? Hmm…well, if it did, they're not obvious. So, don't tell Da and he'll never notice. No reason to give the old man a heart attack, right?"

Through Kit's monologue, Audrey said nothing. But he didn't seem to mind. He sensed her lack of words and compensated for them so that there'd be no silence she'd be obligated to fill.

"Well, love," he continued. "Car's parked a mile a way. Hope you've got your walking shoes on." He glanced downward at her feet. "I don't know what kind of shoes those are, but I suppose they'll have to do. If at any time, you feel you can't go on, lemme know and I'll carry you there. Just what big brothers do. I hope you're not any heavier than when you left. I'm not the strongest bloke in the world." He fished her baggage off of the revolving belt and wheeled it out for her. They walked across the wide expanse of pavement, past countless cars and he talked on about his job, Livvy, goings on with their neighbors, their father, and anything that floated into his brain. He asked her no questions, which she was glad for. She didn't know how she'd answer the obvious ones.

They reached his Saab and he threw her bags in the backseat. She climbed in the passenger seat beside him and he motioned for her to buckle her seatbelt. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been in a car. On second thought, she could – that night in Jack's mother's Saturn, driving along a road in Queens with trees and happiness seeping through every pore. Kit flicked on the radio and Audrey heard the local rock station play guitars and drums at a background music volume. She stared out of the window, still content to be silent, at the scenery passing by. The buildings became fewer and the landscape became a green blur as they drove out of Brighton and into its rural surroundings. "Doves are playing at the Townsend tomorrow night," she heard her brother mention. "I'm sure if you wanted to go you could still get tickets are something." It was still menial conversation, and it was growing more apparent that Kit wasn't sure what to say to her. How could he be? Audrey appearing like she did with no forewarning. He knew her well enough to know that not everything could be right in her world.

"Great," Audrey muttered. "Another left handed bassist singer. It'll be just like the bloody Beatles all over again."

Kit smiled. She loved the band and had been following them since the beginning...he knew that. But, as her big brother, he felt like it was her duty to take her snarky sarcastic comments and thoroughly disregard them. "Da's going through a midlife crisis, I think. He's even joined a gym, and from what I've heard him talk, he's liftin' weights like a madman."

Her response was a simple, "He's gon' to kill 'imself."

"I know. I keep tellin' him that his heart isn't strong enough for that sort of craziness and he keeps arguin' that it's never going to get strong if he doesn't do somethin' about it. I think he just wants to be buff like his younger days. You know how he is – hard headed just like the best of us. And he misses you and doesn't know what to do with himself." He paused. "I think Steve and Rachel are coming over today. Per'aps Phillip too…but I'm not too sure about that." His words garnered no response. He stuck his thumb partly in his mouth and chewed at piece of skin – a trait shared by brother and sister alike. Pulling it off with his teeth, he spat it out and said, "I um, hear your old boy's song on the radio sometimes. Is that you he's singin' so brokenheartedly about?"

Audrey closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and tried to not let yet another thing put at her heartstrings. She had become too emotional for her own good. "Don't start with that Kit."

"Why not? You make grown men cry apparently. That's something to discuss." He chuckled. "But you know, if you don't want to discuss, we won't." And they didn't. He gave up on trying to strike up some sort of dialogue and let her ride home in silence. They didn't speak another word until they reached their old house. He fetched her bag from the back and strode up the short cobblestone walk. He unlocked the front door and flung it open, crying out, "The prodigal daughter has returned home!" Audrey heard the unmistakable squeak of her father rising out of his favourite chair. He appeared at the doorway of the kitchen, glasses pulled down to the tip of his nose and holding a book in his left hand. He smiled, bemusedly, and muttered a "well, well" before crossing the room and embracing her warmly.

They all sat down to a proper dinner that night – Kit, his wife Livvy sitting next to each other and holding hands while eating. Audrey sat next to her father and Kit, who talked as animatedly as ever. Audrey ate slowly and steadily for a while. But as the dinner wore on, she slowed to only pushing her peas around her half full plate and staring at the dark, heavy fabric of the starched dining room curtains. The antique pattern on the wall's paper. She answered questions when they were posed to her but slowly became more and more silent. The night itself was quiet and calm. There was no noise from traffic, sirens, or crowds. The only sounds were that of voices participating in conversation and the occasional bark from the dog next door. It seemed quite queer to be eating a regular meal at a table with stillness all around her.

She became so lost in her own thoughts that she apparently had not heard what her brother had asked her. But he did ask. Repeatedly. Then, he called her name once, then twice. When he received no answer – only her placid staring into space. He shot his father a look of confusion and then without a moment's thought, picked up his glass of water and flung it at his sister. She recoiled and sprung to attention, looking at Kit with wide eyes as droplets of water swam down her hair and into her lashes. But Kit made no apologies. "Oh come on, will you?" he said impatiently, his lips forming a comical sneer. "Have the decency to answer someone when they're talking to you." He swallowed the bite of beef he'd cut and then pointed at Audrey with his knife. "You're not dead, you know." The moment he said it, it immediately seemed that he'd forgotten then entire instance, for he went back to chewing and cutting his meet with the sheerest of nonchalance.

Audrey wiped the hair and water off of her face and looked around at the other two. Livvy, sitting across from her, was making a bad attempt at concealing a smile. Her gaze was cast downward, as she tried to show utter interesting in her food, but her pale complexion blushed a rosy red at her cheeks, revealing her amusement. Her father was stoic. He wiped his mouth on his napkin and then placed it back onto his lap. He picked up his own fork and shoveled a mouthful of peas into his mouth. He nodded toward his daughter. "Finish your food," he told her. "It's getting cold."

Before she crawled into bed that night, she sneezed maybe twelve times. It was the old house. Something ancient in the walls of her bedroom that crept up her nose whenever she stopped moving for more than a moment. The nighttime air would blend with the dust or old particles of building materials and she'd sneeze countless times. Then a feeling of calm would settle over her. She'd pull her blankets up to her chin and close her eyes. Sleep would soon follow, she was sure

But it did not.

She was dead tired, but could not fall asleep to save her life. Her eyes remained open. Every time she closed them, she felt the most uncomfortable sensation, as though any other position than open was completely unnatural. She stared at the ceiling fan and watched it spin. In the shadowy dimness it drew circles that were perfect, complete. She tried to let it hypnotize her into a drowsy state by never taking her eyes from its rotation. But even that did not work. There was still a hole within her. An aching emptiness that she wanted to fill up with a dose of chemical calm. She hadn't any. She didn't know of a way to get any. But that did not stop her from craving its effects.

And then the tears came. Wretched awful tears that ebbed and flowed like tides and would not subside. Into her mind flowed fear, failure, regret, and the anguish of a broken heart. She cried for herself. She cried for who she'd so wanted to be. She cried for what she'd turned into. She cried for the hole in her gut that nothing could fill properly. Minutes were eternities. Her feet rubbed against each other, one coarse heel grating over the soft skin of the top of her foot over and over and over again. She turned on her side and stared at the blinding red digits of her alarm clock. Her eyes stung, dry as though rubbed over with sandpaper. In the next second, they spilled over once more. Wet paths trailed over her cheeks, nose, and chin. She could taste the salt on her tongue when she ran it over her lips, dried from ragged breaths. She clenched her fists, dug her nails into her palms and willed herself to sleep. Yet, the gnawing urge in her stomach would not subside.

In a flurry of frustration and restlessness, she flung the sheets off of her sweating body and sat up in bed. She rubbed her eyes. Her socked feet hit the floor in two soft thuds. She moved slowly, silently, careful not to wake anyone as she felt her way through the dark. At the back door, she slipped on her father's large woolen coat and his house shoes and then padded into the backyard. The early spring's cold had settled into the night air….the cold night air clung to the uncovered flesh of her face and calves. Audrey opened the door to the tool shed, holding her breath as she did so. She squinted her eyes closed as the door swung open with a creak, frightened of what her eyes might behold. She expected to find gardening tools and boxes of discarded things that had no place. She expected to see a place she did not recognize, but she was utterly surprised by what she did find. Upon finally gathering the bravery to open her tightly shut lids and take in her surroundings, she found things just as she had left them….a tiny, yet real, smile crept upon her face.

There were all of her things – half finished paintings, crinkled paint tubes, fake flowers in dusty vases, paper strewn about, chalk pastels….and faint traces of thinner's stench. A single word she'd scrawled in charcoal over the doorcase in a fit of anguish and disappointment: "Sanctuary." (It burned into the wood like a scar or a tattoo – a constant reminder of something that could not be changed or taken away.) Everything that she had not dragged across the ocean was all present and accounted for…and seemingly untouched – like a shrine to a dead beloved. Amazing. She felt bad for doubting – wasn't her family always the truest to her? How could she think that once she was out of sight, she was out of mind and her things replaced with other things. For a moment, her chest was filled with the warm sensation of hope renewed. And she was hungry – her stomach growled as she remembered that, besides the dinner she picked over, she really hadn't eaten anything in three days. The low ache in her stomach longed to be filled. She took a few steps backward, glancing about her old habitat as she exited, and then closed the door softly behind her, turning to twist the key in the knob and hearing it lock with a faint click.

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It was nearing two and the night was growing thin, but ever more pressing. To say Jack was tired would have almost been a lie. The degree of exhaustion, both physical and spiritual, that he felt had stretched far beyond simply tired. Most in his predicament would have not been doing much of any value, and they certainly would not have been in a bar on a Friday night working their asses off. But Jack needed the money. That simple, reoccurring condition kept him bound to many things he wished to be free of.

"_One day Jack," Audrey said, in a voice drenched in hope, "I'm going to have nothing to do. Nothing. They'll be plenty of things that I could do, if I wanted to. But nothing that I'm utterly obligated to do. No school. No shitty job to work forever at just so you can make rent on disgusting flat. No productivity quota that you have to match just to survive. Nothing." She sighed and then brought her knees up, hugging them into her chest. Upon her face came that soft look that Jack wished he could put in his pocket and carry with him all day. _

_So, he humoured her._

"_Baby, from where we're sitting right now, that sounds like crazy talk. Hate to tell ya, but it does." _

"_It doesn't have to be that way. We're getting older every day…a little bit closer to being done…and a little bit freer. That's not crazy talk." She paused to reconsider and scanned the books, papers, and obligations that littered the floor around her. "Well, maybe it is – just a little. But you have to think that way. Because, if you don't, what's there to live for? I can't find anything. I think the greatest thing in the world would be to just sleep late, paint pictures of things I thought were pretty, bake, and have tea. Plant a few tulips, perhaps. That'd be a charmed life. It'll never happen. But it would be grand." _

"Hey. Hey, can I get a beer here man?" The insistent voice interrupted his reverie. She'd been gone for four days, and he was at work making a pitiful amount of money. He was in a terrible, absentminded haze, but still obligated to actually do work while he was on the clock. Sighing, Jack bent down and fetched the requested bottle from under the counter and slid it over toward the customer, who, in exchange, nodded and passed him three dollar bills. He glanced at the clock on the wall above him. He then glanced at the door. Perhaps his gaze was a bit too lengthy, and a bit too anxious, because his fellow bartender came over and put a hand on his shoulder. "You alright man?" he asked.

Jack nodded. "As alright as I can be," he said and wiped his hands on the sides of his jeans. _Alright as he could be_ translated to nervous, heartsick, and really in need of a hour long cigarette break, but no confidant or luxuries could be afforded. Chuck didn't want to know anyway. He'd asked merely out of formality, but Jack knew he wasn't interested in his long, heart-string-pulling, sad tale. Therefore, he only silently stared out into the Friday night crowd, barely seeing or hearing anything. His mind slipped in and out of touch with reality as his thoughts meandered through the twisted paths of past weeks and the uncertain future. Subconsciously, he began to gnaw at the nail and quick of his right thumb, shifting his weight from one foot to another until he felt Chuck jab a sharp elbow into his side. Jack removed his finger from his mouth and spit out a piece of broken nail. He looked at Chuck, who stood waggling his eyebrows and gesturing somewhat emphatically.

He motioned toward the door and Jack's followed. "Wouldn't you like to get with that piece of work there?" Chuck asked. Jack ran his gaze from the tip of her head to the toes of her shoes, surveying her slowly. She was darkly drawn with a mass of thick wavy hair, violet silk draped over her undulating curves, and jeans cut just so. As she impatiently glanced around, he could almost smell the aroma of her thick, sweet perfume through the dank, dark smell of liquor and secondhand smoke lodged in clothing.

She sauntered over to the bar, slipping through the bodies and darkness like a hot knife through butter. She slipped easily onto the stool in front of Jack, propping her cheek upon her hand, soft and coy as ever. Leaning forward, her eyebrows lifted and the word "Cosmopolitan" rolled smoothly off of her tongue. Jack nodded and snagged a clean highball from under the counter. He placed it onto the counter with one hand as his other hand reached behind him and fetched the bottle of vodka. He twisted the cap off and reached for another of cranberry, opening it as well. Skillfully, he simultaneously poured both liquids into the glass and then gave the pink mixture a quick stir. He placed a lime slice on the glass's rim and slid the drink over wordlessly. She clasped it between delicate, white fingers and pressed it to her lips while the band struck up its first raucous chords. She turned to survey the music and the people bobbing their heads to it as she nonchalantly sipped the pink liquid. As she drank, she ever so slightly swayed to the infectious rhythm of three repeated chords. Her drink two thirds consumed, she turned back toward Jack and casually said "Let's blow this joint."

Jack did not miss one beat when he painted a scowl on his face and replied, "Tsk, tsk. What? No tip?"

"Here's a tip," she responded evenly, finishing off her drink in two unladylike gulps. "Don't lick the poles in the subway. They're covered in germs."

"Fair enough." Jack threw his towel down on the bar and dipped his hand into the glass jar beside him. He fished out a messy wad of dollar bills intermingled with quarters and jammed the money haphazardly into his pocket, leaving most of the change behind. Jack leaned over and shouted into Chuck's ear that he had to go. Chuck nodded in response and instantaneously Jack ducked out from under the bar and headed for the door. Without a word, the brunette followed close behind him.

Once they'd cleared the door, Jack reached into his pocked and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. He drew one out and lit it, cupping his hands around it so that a sudden blast of wind wouldn't extinguish his flame. He took a needy puff from the cigarette and handed it to the girl who'd fallen in step at his side as he released a stream of smoke from his nostrils. "Talk," he said.

"About what?" she responded, smoke between her ruby lips.

"You know," he said. "Don't play cute with me, Ray. I wanna know why she left. I wanna know why you think she hated me so much that she had to cross the Atlantic to get away from me. I wanna know why she couldn't tell me what was wrong with her. I wanna know what was wrong with her in general and why she was actin' so strange. I also wanna know what her phone number is over there."

"What if I don't have the answers to all of those things?"

"Then just tell me what you do know. Please. I'm so fucked right now that I'll take anything." Jack walked over a grate and heard the underground train roar like thunder in the distance. He paused over it, looking to Ray for answers. She nodded. The subway's clatter grew more thunderous underneath them, until it rushed through its tunnel, shooting drifts of warm air cutting upward through the cold night air.

"Tell you what I do know…." Ray said, her hair fluttering softly. "You're girl's not one to make much sense." She deftly stole Jack's cigarette, coolly snatching it from between his two fingered grip. Taking a long, thoughtful drag from the end, she crossed one arm in front of her, tightly holding her jacket in place, and let her other arm dangle out from her hip as she discarded ashes off of its smoldering end with subtle flicks of her wrist. She gazed off into the night, her eyes fixed on some distant point of interest over Jack's shoulder and sent a pointed stream of exhaled smoke into the air. Then she began to speak. And Jack hung on her every word, harbouring each significant one in his troubled mind. Perfectionist. Homesickness. Depression. Medication. Loss. The subway whisked by under their feet again, wafting up more pillows of warm air. In spite of them, Jack shivered.

The air was cold and wet, sending a fine mist of salt water into Audrey's face and hair as she stood silent and still, looking out onto the horizon. Strands of loose wet hair slapped at her skin and floated on the breeze like forlorn streamers abandoned in a parade. It seemed a sea of glass. Icily still and smooth until it drew neared to the shore and crashed, breaking upon itself into thousands of white shards. From her back, she produced a camera. Bringing it out in front of her, she snapped a picture of the scene before her, but did not bother to look through the lens. It didn't matter anyway – the sea carried on forever. What did it matter which piece of it she had captured with her meager instrument?

Over and over, Kit's voice resounded in her ears – _You're not dead, you know. _

She replayed the events of the last day through her mind. Upon waking on her first morning back in Sussex, she could not remember where she was. Eyes heavy and fastened together by sleep, she thought herself still in her flat in the East Village, and late for her morning class. Her heart leapt with distress and she suddenly jolted upright, opening her eyes fully. But, when the room blued into view around her, she saw that she surely was not. She feigned sleep until her father left for work, but was ever aware of the four times he poked in head in her cracked door to check on her. She knew it was only to say good morning, but she didn't feel much like conversation.

She was finally home and felt it. Not just that sad excuse for home that she felt whenever she walked through the door of 3F and surveyed the mess and brokenness around her. She felt safe and for once, not as though she had to worry about everything. There was the comfort of rain and her father sleeping in the next room. The familiar accents and slang that she recognized and understood. She did not worry about where her next meal was coming from or what was due the next day. Time, even, seemed to have slowed to a pace she could keep up with. She went through the ceremonial events of a homecoming. She saw friends and chatted with them about how they were, what they had done, and who they had become. She taped a hand taken photograph of New York on her wall – next to a glossy, stylized one she'd clipped from a magazine over a year ago. She thought about the city in the past tense…wondered it felt so distant though she'd been there only two days ago. She lay down in her bed, in her room, walls littered with pictures from, both new and old…of quaint, old houses, of 40 story buildings, of coasts and sidewalks, traffic, grass, trees, and pedestrians. The infinite and hard to come by rain – contrasts and comparisons of what seemed like two, parallel worlds – never touching, never crossing. Then, she got up and wandered into the garage, dusted the fine grit powder off of her Volkswagen and drove it through miles of rain to the coast, where she now stood.

On the drive home, she listened to Sugarplum Fairies CD that she'd bought at Kim's in St. Mark's some months ago. Jack had taken her there when it was blistering cold out. The air inside had felt balmy from the radiator's heat and the coat and scarf she hadn't bothered removing. She perused the aisles with interest and wonder. (She hadn't heard of half the bands there and she wondered how that was possible – an avid music enthusiast like herself.) Jack merely glance over titles and cover art. She could tell he was bored, but was trying for her sake. She meandered over to the listening corner with four cds in her hand, as she slipped the headphones over her ears and pressed selections on the screen, she and Jack made eyes at each other. Later, they'd go back to his place and have sex to the sounds of her three recently purchased albums. The air was cold (heat was electricity, and electricity was money, after all…) and their toes and fingers were like ice. But blankets kept their bodies warm enough, and love took care of their hearts. Now, in her car she drove on into the fading evening and thought of him. Wondered what he was doing and if he was thinking of her at that moment. The soft breathy vocals of the female singer created the perfect wistful soundtrack to drown one's self in wishful thinking and nostalgia. It had begun to rain. Audrey rolled down her window, taking in a deep breath-ful of air. Nothing smelled like the rain in Brighton. Nothing.

Days later, a lazy, languid wretch of a demeanour had overtaken her. Besides her southern trip to the coast, she'd done practically nothing except watch the television, eat, and sleep. It was a strange sickness, She'd never felt anything like it before, but did not question it. Instead she allowed it to consume her, and suck her into the hole of her own private obliviousness for days. Her limbs felt heavy and her eyelids would only open halfway. It was as if she had been drugged. She had no desire to get anything done. No guilt that nothing was getting done. Apathy about nearly everything had seeped into her bones in a dire way.

(Inwardly, she understood perfectly what her subconscious was doing. It was drowning all of those dangerous and hurtful little reminders of why she was sitting in her room in England instead of New York in a deep sea of sleep. It was helping her to forget by not allowing her to think.)

Lying across her unmade bed, still immersed in listlessness, she stared out of her window. The shades were drawn back and the mid afternoon sunlight poured in. She gazed blankly at the sycamore tree planted in their front yard until she felt her eyelids grow deliciously heavy and decided to doze off into another pleasant slumber. (Nevermind the face that she'd risen at ten and slept for a half hour around half past noon.) She drifted off to sleep for only a minute or two before jerking back into reality at the sound of loud thumping down the hall. Heaven knew what was going on down there, but she didn't care to find out. She laid her head down once more and closed her eyes, but the thumping persisted. The thumping sounded like work. Like someone was getting something accomplished. And for the first time since she'd been back, Audrey felt the familiar twinge of guilt.

She was wasting her life.

Right now, back in New York, seventeen year old kids were being sought out by dealers anxious for the next "find". Twenty three year olds fresh out of college were selling out their openings and being featured in Art in America. Spot Conlon was hard at work at his easel mass producing effortless paintings that he would sell for extravagant sums. And what was she doing?

Painting was out of the question. It was her life's blood, but also her death in many, many ways. Also, she'd left her newer supplies and ideas in New York. There had to be something else. Anything. What did she used to do before she committed herself to painting? (Did she used to do anything before there was painting? Really…did she?) Remembering, she yawned and rose, dragging her feet over to the computer, at which she heavily sat down at. Audrey opened her word processor. Waiting for the window to pop onto her screen, her cat Francie leapt onto her lap and made herself at home. Francie was getting on in years and was notoriously lazy. She used to follow Audrey out into her studio and then leap onto her lap and rub her long hair onto the wet paint, much to Audrey's dismay. Now, her presence was a welcome one and Audrey allowed her to remain and stroked her fur absentmindedly as she typed lines of bad, pretentious poetry.

As she typed and backspaced nonsensical stanzas that tried hard to mimic her beloved Cummings, she found herself growing anxious and seeking distractions. It was her creative process, after all – to work intermittently while allowing anything and everything to get in the way. She paused and opened Internet Explorer several times, but closed its window, each time with fervor. But when the words finally refused to flow, she opened it yet again, and allowed it to remain open. She checked her email. There was a short note from Ryan. It mentioned nothing about the night they spent two weeks ago. Nothing about the kiss. Nothing about the way she ambled off suddenly, mumbling under her breath. It simply wondered how she was doing and if she'd like to meet him for coffee sometime next week. She felt her skin grow hot. She felt like a traitor for even reading it. And so she deleted instead of replying. She didn't care how it made her look. He could think what he wanted of her. He could not think of her at all. It made no difference to her now.

But thinking of Ryan made her instantly think of Jack…as if he hadn't been filling her mind already. Despite everything, she missed him and wanted to talk to him, but she had no idea what she'd say. She checked news headlines. Read her horoscope. Skimmed over music reviews. All the while, her mind shifted constantly to Jack. Jack. Jack. JACK. She wanted to know what he was doing right that second. She wanted to be present in his life. She wanted him…or any piece of him that she could possess from thousands of miles away. She twisted her mouth into a thoughtful little scowl and against her better judgment, performed a masterful little Google search. Within minutes, she had found the site, downloaded the software, registered with an obscure, meaningless user name and was watching Jack messily throw around his money via internet poker.

"What are you doing there?"

The voice startled her. She'd been so focused on her little mission that she hadn't notice Kit meander through her door. She wondered how long he'd been observing her. How much of her furiously clicking he'd witnessed. "Watching him play poker," she answered. Instantly, she felt the need to defend herself by trivializing her little stalker-like stunt. "It's stupid really." She shrugged. She shook her head and clicked her tongue. She turned toward the screen and scoffed. "Look at him…" She gestured toward the monitor with a casual wave of her hand. "He's fucking it all up. Miserably. He's a vicious and hasty player when he's angry. Seven card stud's not even his game. He's just playing it to prove something to himself. It's not working. Stupid dumb fuck." She was trying hard to make her attitude seem cool and detached. Completely flippant. However, once the word tumbled off of her tongue, she knew she'd said too much to pull off indifference.

The inoffensive, yet sarcastic smile crept over her brother's face. "That's your boy then, I take it? Do you do this much? Are you a poker aficionado now? Or maybe a groupie?" He laughed.

She shook her head. "No. I'm just a girlfriend. A bad one at that. I- " She paused suddenly, every little thought flooding her mind negated that statement. Sleep couldn't save her now. Kit was looking at her inquiringly, almost forcefully. She started again, but her voice quavered. She took a deep breath and collected herself. "I hope on a plane and cross oceans without giving prior warning." She chuckled nervously and reached into her bag of tricks for a change of subject. "Would you think me so terribly awful if I went and had a smoke? I've been thinking about school and stuff and that makes me feel so Goddamn overwhelmed."

"Yes. But I won't tell anyone if you go outside behind the shed." He studied her. She did her best to feign casual interest in the computer screen. She didn't want to be studied. "Look, I'm going to be frank with you. I know something's wrong , and I know you're stubborn enough to never tell me. But trying to put together puzzle pieces in my head doesn't make for the best diagnosis. You may love us, but you don't love us enough to have to suddenly miss us enough to jump the very next flight back. Is it school?" She shook her head. "Is it the boy?" she shook her head again in the very same fashion, hoping he wouldn't detect any difference. "Is the city eating you alive?" Again, she answered negatively. He was running out of options. What else could there be? "Do you need money?"

Honestly, it was every single thing he had mentioned, compacted and made worse through time. But money was the safest bet. The most benign…the least suspicious. She couldn't think of a single college student her age that didn't need money. If she admitted to it, Kit would both understand and leave her the hell alone about it. She laughed. "Kit," she answered in a lighthearted voice. "You're talking to a twenty year old art student trying to make due in a very expensive city. How would I not need money? I'm fine though. I'm working good hours and doing fine. Can't depend on Da to help me out forever."

Kit looked nearly aghast. "Are you stupid? Just ask him for money. He's got enough and he'll give it to you in a heartbeat. It's not worth you breaking your arse just to make rent."

"I can't do that."

"Oh, like starving would be better? Sure you can do that. Just get over your damned pride and ask him. You just say, "Da, sorry to bother ya, but money's gettin' a bit tight with rent and food and tube fare. Can I borrow a few quid? I'll pay ya back later." 'Course, he won't take it, but it'll make look you good. Unlike your current Joan of Arc glow. Martyrdom doesn't become you love, sorry to say."

Her jaw set and she lifted her chin in defiance. "It's not martyrdom. It's independence. It's having the guts and the will to stand on my own two feet. If I go crying back to my father every time I get in a bind, what good does that do? I'll never learn and I look bad for doing it. No. I'm not going to be a beggar. And don't you bloody go creepin' behind my back and askin' him for me. I'll hate you forever if you do." There was a slight rap at the door. Audrey glanced toward it and then her eyes darted back to her brother. "I mean it," she said. "Don't you do it." The door creaked open slowly, Kit turned around to regard it and then glanced back at Audrey. She pointed her finger at him commandingly. Livvy stuck her head in the door with a soft"Hope I'm not interrupting." Audrey regarded at Kit silently. Her jaw set and she lifted her chin sternly, her eyes giving him one more reminder.

"Of course not," he told his wife warmly. No telltale trace of the nature of previous conversation lingered on his face. "Sis and I were just sitting here having a pleasant little brother – sister chat." She sat down on the bed beside him and he lovingly reached over and rubbed her knee before slinging his arm over her shoulders. Audrey felt the sharp pang in her stomach at the sight of the subtle tenderness.

"When do you leave?" Livvy asked. Her face had more freckles than Audrey remembered. The creases around her mouth had deepened, probably from smiling too much. Her hair had grown longer and fell around her shoulders in golden red waves. She looked like a heroine in a Waterhouse painting. Audrey was jealous of her for reasons she could not understand.

Audrey paused. She'd considered not leaving. It would be so simple just to not go back. Ever. To stay safe and warm within her fortress of familiarity. England always called to her – she knew it would never stop…no matter where she traveled. But New York whispered, seductively, of loose ends, unfinished business, and the mythical nature of all the possibilities it could still hold for her. She bought her plane ticket the previous day and instantly, the knot began to reform in her stomach. "Sunday," she responded. "Early Sunday afternoon."

"Are you just going to stay in your room napping until then?" Livvy asked.

"Possibly."

"I have a better idea. What if we went out for shopping and manicures instead?"

"Shopping and haircuts, instead?"

"Deal."

Kit chose that very moment to make a practical exit, excusing himself with a "Well, this doesn't really concern me." Livvy watched her husband quickly exit the room before turning back to Audrey and offering her another warm smile. Yet, something knowing was behind this smile. "This is about a boy, isn't it?" Audrey didn't answer. "It's okay. You don't have to tell me about it. I just want you to know that you could if you wanted to. I have a slight advantage over your other two choices for willing ears. I'm a bit more understanding." Audrey did not offer up any information. But she would have, had Livvy pressed for it in the slightest. Just thinking of opening up and spilling everything to her made her feel slightly better. Perhaps she could talk it over with her while Livvy indulged her in clothes, food, and pampering. Perhaps she could help her make some sense of her life. Hell, she wasn't doing any good on her own. Why not let someone else have a go of it?

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Jack stayed in his apartment for a long time. Waiting. Just thinking. Eating. Banging away angrily on his piano when it got too hard to think of her. Every day was the day she would come back to him. The day the key would turn in the lock and she would just waltz over his doorstep like nothing had ever happened. Each time she didn't, he'd submerge himself in cigarettes, food, and angry self pity. He'd felt like this before, so angry, so bitter, so helpless. So hurt. When Sarah left, she dug him a hole so deep he thought he'd never claw his way out of it. _Ha. _Good old Sarah – She couldn't know how much she'd taught him. How to separate laundry, how to cook eggs, how to appreciate subtitled films, how to hold a crying girl, how to make her come with his tongue, how to make a phone conversation count, how to have a fight, how to make up after a fight. But she didn't teach him how to remedy a sin that forces a girl to put an ocean's worth of distance between you and her. At that moment in his life, that lesson would be the only one of value because his solution to the problem was not working. _T__his is not healthy_, he told himself. _Stop this. Stop this now._ But he didn't. Money that was supposed to last him a week lasted a day and a half as he manically burned through junk food and packs of cigarettes. Porno mags. The self loathing consumed him best just after he jacked off in the bathroom, magazine open on the counter, pants around his ankles. He'd zip his fly and simultaneously pick up another spike that nailed him to the cross she'd left behind.

If only it weren't his own fucking fault.

On the fifth day, he decided to go out. He'd been invited to a card game and had taken up the offer. But on the walk there, he decided his mind was not in the right place to be pushing around money. So, he stopped off in a phone booth and called to cancel. Race answered the phone and did not question his motives for canceling. In fact, it sounded as though he'd expected it. Still feeling too unsettled to go home and do more of the same, he sought another venue of comfort. From the same phone booth, he made two calls: one to Andrew and one to Spot. Andrew accepted his invitation to "sit at a bar and get shitfaced" readily…as Jack expected. But he was surprised when Spot also said he'd come.

"Are you sure?" he asked, shock evident in his voice.

"Yeah, I'm sure," came the response. "Why? Don't sound like it?"

"No, no…that's not it. I just thought that you'd be busy. I mean, you usually painting or with Ray or something-"

"So." It was more a statement than a question. "That doesn't mean anything. You shouldn't just go around assuming things."

They had downed more than a few fancy bottled beers that Spot had picked up the tab for – the only kind he could stomach anymore, he said, when Andrew ever so casually brought up a not so healed wound. "So, Jack, did you get that scholarship you were after? When are you leavin' town? Gotta know when to throw you a big going away bash." He chuckled and slapped his friend on the back good naturedly.

Good old Skittery. Good old kind hearted, care-about-others Andrew Ingram. Damn him. Jack winced. "Yeah, about that….I don't think I'm going."

Skittery looked as though Jack had spoken to him in Romanian. His eyes were wide with disbelief, his brow furrowed as though trying to add two numbers that just didn't compute, but he just smiled if he couldn't have heard Jack clearly. "Whaddaya mean not going?" he said through a laugh.

However, Spot looked at his friend with different eyes. "That's a surprise," he said tonelessly. "Thought for sure you had it in the bag. They gave it to some brainy know it all with thick glasses?"

"No, I turned it down." When he heard himself admit it, he instantly felt sick. Was it the alcohol on his empty stomach settling in, or cold hard reality? He was ashamed to look up. Ashamed that he'd worked so hard for seemingly nothing. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and wanted a smoke. Jack did not want to see his friends' reactions.

Spot's gaze was steely, critical. His jaw was tight and his head tilted back far enough that his eyes formed cold hard slits. He laughed sardonically. "Kelly, I've got a good mind to drag you out onto the sidewalk and kick your ass. You better have a good reason. You got one?"

Jack was afraid that he didn't. The good reason he was so sure that he had was immediately dashed by his infidelity and her sudden absence. At that moment, he was deathly afraid that Spot would do exactly as he said. Because he felt deserved it. Utterly. He looked at Spot and shook his head and then took great care in studying a group of vintage beer posters hung on a wall across the bar. Spot read him like a dime novel. "The girl?" he asked. Jack nodded ever so slightly. Then there was silence. Skittery was uncomfortable and thought it best not to say anything. Jack was waiting nervously for the next thing to come out of Spot's mouth. And Spot? Spot was taking long, deliberate sips from the mouth of his bottle. Jack fumbled with a bottle top, turning it over in his hand. Dropping it. Picking it back up again, and fumbling with it once more.

"Seems strange," Spot finally said. His voice was utterly cool, utterly calm – utterly unsettling. "To put all that on a not so solid bet."

Jack dropped the bottle top once more. Though all the cling and clatter of the raucous bar atmosphere, he clearly heard the ping it made when it hit the tiled floor. "What do you mean?"

"Well, she ran off on you once."

"I deserved that."

"You probably did," he responded without missing a beat. "But even if she comes back to you, ya've got what? Two, three months at most?"

Jack's face darkened. He had the slightest idea of what his friend was talking about. But it was muddled between the fear gathering in his chest and the hope rallying in his heart. Although the aforementioned "ass kicking" had not happened, Jack felt as though his he'd taken a hard jab to the gut. Honestly, he wished Spot would have just drug him outside and slammed his face into the sidewalk and spared him from the conversation they were engaged in. "Until what?" he asked between his teeth.

"Ray said she was going back home after the semester ended. She ran out of money or something. You didn't know?"

Jack suddenly felt as though he were drowning. His head was a mix of frantic thoughts. How could she consider leaving without telling him? How could he make her stay? Could he work extra hours or find another job to earn enough money to pay for another year? Could he take a year off and work full time to support them until she graduated. Could she move into his place so that she wouldn't have to pay rent? Could he buy her a ring, marry her, bind her legally to his side? He would wait until he heard it from her lips. Perhaps she'd change her mind. Perhaps she already did. He looked to Spot for answers. "Did Ray say anything else?"

Spot help up his hands and acquitted himself from any further discussion. "That's all I know," he told his friend, rendering the conversation over and obsolete.

Jack was able to endure another twenty minutes with his friends, pretending he was not going absolutely out of his skull before he excused himself politely and made a beeline to the nearest payphone to dial a number he'd called a lot recently. "She's leaving?" he blurted out when she answered the phone.

"Huh? Jack? God damn it, you've got to stop calling me so frantic all the time! I'm just lounging on my bed, filing my nails and watching some trashy T.V peacefully. Then the phone rings and it's you, and I have to leap into damage control mode like I'm talking a jumper down from the ledge. Why can't you just call to say hello like a normal human? That'd be nice every once in a while."

"Why didn't you tell me she was leaving? Is..is…is…she even coming back in the first place? Hell! I-I can't even believe that no one bothered to tell me this little piece of fucking critical information. This is like a sick fucking joke," he stammered.

He heard a small sigh as Ray changed the tone of her voice. The defensiveness was gone, and in its place was her attempt at comforting, yet frank. "It wasn't my place. I figured she'd want to tell you herself. If she decided to do it. I don't know for sure that she has decided that yet. I know she was leaning strongly towards it."

"When?"

"End of the school year." She sounded so certain. _Oh, this was rich_. Why was he the only one that was surprised by the news? Everyone had known all along and sat by just watching and feeling sorry for him as fell madly in love. He slapped his hand to his forehead. How could he have been so stupid? He massaged his eyes and paced, as much as he could, from one side of the phone booth to the other, mind racing. Quick fixes. Solutions. Plans that wouldn't work. Crazy ideas that maybe would…. He stopped pacing and knitted his brows together. He took in a breath and opened his mouth to consider a possibility that he might put to words.

Then, from the other line came, "Oh no." He didn't like its tone one bit.

"What?" he asked, apprehensively.

"You're not thinking of doing something dashing and stupid like proposing, are you? I don't think that's going to work. It's sweet. Really, it is. But come on, her family and her whole life is like a world away. You knew she would go home sometime."_ Silence. _

"Come on Jack, you had to fucking know."

"How would I fucking know if no one told me?" he exploded.

"It's not my fucking fault, Jack," Ray retorted. She listened on the line for an answer. There was none, only a little click followed by more silence. "Jack? Jack! Answer me! You didn't hang up on me, did you?" _Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep_, came the dial tone. "Great!" she screamed into the mouthpiece to no one. "GREAT! Superfabulous fuck shit fine. Two of them mad at me. I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!"

He went back to his apartment, heart heavy with the news and curled himself into a ball on his bed. He laid there silent, breathing deeply, heavily, but his mind racing. He could research some scholarships. He could find a way to help her sell her paintings. She could move into his apartment to cut down on bills. He could take an extra job. _He could do anything and everything in his power to keep her by his side._ When he managed to scrape himself off of his sheets, he ambled into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. His reflection in the mirror was startling – his hair was matted and cheeks appeared hollow, his skin red and sickly looking. But what was really frightening was that he'd begun to think of Audrey in the past tense. As though she had died. As though she were never, ever coming back to him. Another terrifying though zapped through the electrodes of his brain, quick as lightning. _I should have gone to Santa Fe._

He switched on the television and stared blankly at the weather report. The weatherman droned on about fronts and air currents. About oncoming rain. "_You and your persuasive rain," he scathingly told his absent girlfriend in his mind. . Always looking for something better – something to purify you and wash you clean because you're afraid that you're incapable of carrying through with anything. The rain is just your way of starting over so that you don't have to deal with anything. _The weatherman told his audience goodnight. Was it that late? The Empire State Building was probably turning off its lights, and the city that never slept was settling down. Jack heard the hum of his refrigerator and a click…and then nothing. All was strangely quiet. There was no car alarms, no sirens, no drunks outside in the hall. His ceilings suddenly felt low. He noticed the cracks in the wall, the dust and cobwebs gathering in the corners. But he didn't know what day it was. Responsible to the core as he usually was, he could not recall the date or the last time he'd eaten a decent meal. The record of the money he'd spent in the last six days. Rational, practical, unfailing Jack Kelly had turned into a sniveling ball of sentimentality lying like a statue in his own self pity. What fucking good was that doing? He closed his eyes and took deep breaths. One after another. Then another. An endless stream of deep breaths. Then, _click._ It was the last day of the month. _The rent was due the next day._

But tomorrow was an eternity away. He needed something worthwhile to get him there. He picked himself up off of the floor and marched into his bedroom. Ignited with the fury of determination, he picked up every single article of clothing that littered the floor. Searching each and every pocket, he fished out change and dollar bills and collected them in a pile on his bed. Then, he folded, hung up, and set aside items to be washed. From under his bed, he fished out a large jar. He took it into the bathroom and rinsed and dried it. Then, he set it on the windowsill and into it deposited all of the bills and changed he had gathered. He dusted off his hands and said out loud, "You are a selfish girl, Audrey Nellwyn. You hurt me and you hurt yourself. And every time you hurt me I say it's alright and suck it up like some damn saint. And I love you. You are not fucking leaving me." He knew very well that any money he could collect in a jar over the span of three months would not be enough to buy a year's worth of NYU tuition. But if nothing else, it was a start and a supplement to other larger schemes he was cooking up.

_Something for you_, he thought and blew the jar a kiss. _Now, something for me dear, because I don't know what else to do with myself. You fucking clever girl. You always figure out how to get your way._

He looked around the room and gathered up bits of paper that he'd scrawled pained fragments of lyrics upon and went over to his piano with a pencil and a pad of paper. He sat down at the bench and lightly stroked the keys. She was always telling him to play the damn instrument. A nagging mother couldn't have done a better job of it. In hindsight, he supposed it was sweet of her to be so interested in him developing whatever talents he had. But, overall it had just been damn annoying. _Whatever_, he thought with a sigh. For the hours following, he pieced the words together, trying them out with note progressions on his piano. One he got frustrated and banged the keys with his fist. His un-music was accompanied with loud banging on the wall from his neighbor. It was, after all, growing into the wee hours of morning. "Sorry!" he called out and set about giving the keys a softer touch. This was about making something – having something good come out of the last wretched week. Not making more angst to go with it.


End file.
